Stark-Rogers Industries
by Hywar
Summary: A collection of one shots regarding America's favorite superheros, mostly focusing in on Captain Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. All Stony, a hefty amount of fluff with occasional angst thrown in.
1. Holding Hands

**Authors Note: Hey guys! So, originally I was going to write a novel this month (for National Novel Writing Month, in case any of you are curious!) but after some thinking I realized I wouldn't have the time I needed to plan out and pursue it. So, instead, I figured I would still try and write 50,000….of fanfiction! This month I'll be working on Stony oneshots! I have a list of prompts going, but if you want anything specific please feel free to suggest it! My goal is to update this with my writing for the day, but that may not happen…regardless, this will eventually be 50,000 words worth of Stony. **

Tony was never one to take things slow. From his fast cars to pulling all-nighters in the lab in order to fix things in record time, taking time seemed to be, well, a waste of time. There were always a million thoughts running through his mind, most of which were in and out before they had a chance to impact him.

Lately, though, he'd found his thoughts a little more organized and focused. Of course, they had to pick the worst focal point possible – Captain America. It wasn't the first time Tony had found himself mesmerized by the patriotically-clad superhero – most of his childhood was spent living in the shadow of the then-presumed dead man, and he wasn't particularly ashamed to admit that quite a few of his teenager wet-dreams were fuelled by stolen photos of the attractive blonde. Still, he had thought that had been no more than a simple phase, one that he'd most certainly outgrown after he took over his father's company and found he had choice pick over nearly any girl he wanted.

Then the golden boy just had to come back into the picture and reawaken every young fantasy Tony Stark had had. He tried to reason with himself, really, he did. It wasn't _his_ fault the captain was unfairly attractive (both physically and, as Tony was realizing now, personality-wise)! He'd be surprised if he could find anyone who would disagree with his assessment, anyone who would pass up a chance to bang the Captain if they were given an opportunity. He had only felt mildly guilty for his thoughts when he was with Pepper – after all, wasn't everyone allowed a freebie or two? It's not like it would ever actually happen, he didn't see the harm in thinking about it – but once he and Pepper had split, he found his thoughts honed in on the Captain for too often. While he once prided himself on keeping his head on his work, he had accidentally set his lab on fire twice this week alone, all because he had gotten distracted.

Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot the billionaire could do. Steve was a guy from the forty's, no way was he even remotely interested in pursuing _anything_ with a guy. While Tony knew that the Captain had been adapting to modern times and tended to have both an open mind and an understanding attitude, he had a feeling that a confession of this nature would push him over the edge and perhaps ruin their already-unstable relationship. He'd managed to fend off his impatient libido for a while, thanks mostly due to hand jobs and the occasional prostitute. Before long, however, he found the 'occasional' prostitute happening less and less, as a good fuck became a decent fuck became a lousy fuck, all because his mind couldn't get past the one thing it had decided it wanted most – to fuck Captain Steve Rogers.

It didn't help that Tony had never been told no, by himself or others. Even as a child all he had to do was say the word and whatever foolishness he wanted would be brought to him, mostly due to his father's efforts to keep him quiet while he continued the search for the one thing _he_ wanted, to find what he deemed to be the best creation known to mankind. As an adult, Tony had the money and resources to get whatever he wanted – whether that be a girl or an object, and the capabilities to build whatever he wanted if it didn't already exist. What Tony Stark wanted, Tony Stark got. No one had ever tried to stand in his way, let alone himself, and his mind wasn't exactly open to a chance in the status quo. No, not this time. Not when it was something he wanted so terribly bad, something he had wanted since he was a kid, since before he knew what it was like to _really, really_ want something. He knew it was only a matter of time before his mind won out, before he realized the self-administered hand jobs weren't really doing the trick anymore, before he was unable to talk himself out of charging into this and assuming the best would happen. The thought terrified him, because he knew the best wouldn't happen. He knew if he treated this like every other relationship he'd had, well, it would end up like every other relationship he'd ever had. Badly, and quickly. And that wasn't what he wanted with Steve. He knew that. This thing he had going on for the Captain (because right now it was most definitely a _thing_, no more and no less) wasn't something that would go away easily, and if ever finally got the Captain, he was uncertain as to whether he'd be able to let him go.

"Stark?" A smooth voice jolted Tony from his thoughts, his grip slackening on the wrench he had been holding and forcing him to jerk rather unattractively in order to catch it.

"Heya, Cap! Whatcha need?" He didn't even bother asking how Steve had gotten into the lab – Jarvis had taken some semblance of pity (or whatever pity a robot could have) on the man and tended to do things automatically, rather than force Steve into feeling like an idiot as he spoke to the ceiling.

"Nothing really, I just…" The Captain trailed off, his hand reaching up to scratch the back of his head in a move Tony could only think of to describe as adorable. Damn, even he knew he had it bad now – everything Steve did just screamed cute and adorable and unknowingly attractive. Tony tapped his foot, urging the Captain to continue before his thoughts got the better of him. Luckily, Steve seemed to get the hint.

"You missed dinner, is all. I mean, Bruce said Jarvis would tell you, but I guess you were busy? I left a plate in the fridge for you, anyway, but well…it's next to all the other plates from the past week. Tony, when was the last time you had an actual meal?"

Tony worked to beat down the flittering in his stomach at the thought of Steve fretting about him. One look into his eyes made the entire process easier – Steve had somehow mastered the kicked-puppy completely worried expression since he had woken up, despite the fact that he had the build of, well, a super soldier. Lowering the wrench onto the table, he tried, unsuccessfully, to break eye contact with the soldier before attempting to swallow what felt like a glued lump of dry clay trapped in his throat.

"It hasn't been that long, Cap. I've only been down here for a couple hours, at most –"

"Tony, no one's seen you for at least a week now."

He dragged a hand threw his dirty brunette locks, letting out a sigh of frustration. Had it really been that long? It didn't look like he had made that much progress…

"Tony," Cap's voice had changed now, that kicked puppy expression morphing into one of mild frustration and motherly concern.

"Yeah, yeah. Alright, I guess it might have been that long…"

Before he knew what was happening strong hands had grabbed his shoulders, forcefully pulling the chair out and dragging him up. Tony bit his lip in surprise and tried to hide the reaction the blonde manhandling had on him.

"Ah – whatcha doing, Cap?"

"Bringing you upstairs. You need to eat, Tony."

"I'm perfectly capable of moving myself, you know." Steve stared down at him, clearly unimpressed.

"Really? I figured without the suit you were immobile."_ Oh god,_ Tony thought_, he's started picking up on how to sass people, too. As if he wasn't already great, now he's trying to raise the bar on perfection_. Instead of responding Tony merely rolled his eyes, giving in and allowing the Captain to move him as he pleased.

After a few moments of silence and impatiently waiting for Steve to start heading towards the kitchen (impatient only because his mind had finally become aware of just how hungry he was – he was perfectly fine staying in Steve's grip for a while) Tony finally gave in.

"You planning on moving anytime soon?" Steve's hands moved a bit, starting to lift up before faltering and sinking back down, gripping the other's shoulders tighter than ever (Tony liked to believe Steve had moved them back of his own accord, and not because Tony had let out a more-than-pitiful sound at the loss of contact).

"How'd you remember to eat before, Tony? When you lived alone?"

"Same way I do now. Someone's always around to remind me – Pepper, Jarvis, you…" Tony trailed off, looking up at Steve, waiting for the other man to make a sound of disapproval at the suggested relationship between the two of them, minor as it may be.

"Why do you think we do that, Tony?"

"Well…Jarvis is programed to keep me alive, and Pepper sort of is too…as for you, I don't know. Your motives are a mystery to me, Cap." At this, Steve sighed, gripping his shoulders a little tighter, a faint hint of discomfort shooting through Tony before disappearing completely as Steve pulled him closer, resting their foreheads together.

"You know, people do care about you, Stark." Tony's eyes were wide, and he was fairly certain his cheeks were just barely starting to grow warm. It was growing harder to hide what Steve was doing to him, what Steve was making him want to do.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know."

"Good." With that, Steve abruptly pulled away, releasing Tony completely before turning his back to him and making as if he were heading towards the door. Tony stayed motionless, shocked and honestly a little disappointed at the very sudden lack of contact, and somehow Steve knew, like he always did. Turning back ever so slightly, he gave Tony a half-smile, reaching his hand out and grabbing the shorter man's, gripping it tightly and tugging. Tony couldn't help the smile that crept up his face as he allowed himself to be dragged out of the room, holding the soldier's hand tight and preventing any chance of losing contact (and if Steve smiled a little wider at the gesture, well, who was to notice? Certainly not the genius who, as they would both realize later, would refuse to let go of said hand all night).


	2. Spooning

The first time they had tried it, Tony insisted on being big spoon. He figured he was best suited for the part, considering all the woman he had been with and the fact that, well; he had always been big spoon. Steve had thrown a minor fuss, insisting that he wasn't the 'dame' in this relationship (Tony still wasn't tired of old 40's slang, and he was honestly bothered by the fact that Steve was slowly adapting and had stopped using most of it). Tony had made it fairly clear that it was his way or the highway, and after briefly explaining the meaning of said saying, Steve had begrudgingly agreed.

Of course, as it turns out Tony hadn't really thought his brilliant plan through all too well. Aside from Pepper, he hadn't been in a relationship since getting his arc reactor. Pepper hadn't often stayed overnight, and when she did she made it clear she didn't want to cuddle. When they were together she had feed Tony the age-old _it's too hot_ response, but after they fought when they broke up, she had told him the truth; the arc reactor wasn't comfortable to lie against.

For a minute after they had gotten into bed together, just as Tony had begun to hold Steve against his chest, his hands draped over the blonde's chest, held in place by the other mans, Tony feared that she was right. What if Steve wasn't comfortable? What if he didn't mind being the, well, 'dame' in this relationship, he just didn't want to lie against the arc reactor because it was uncomfortable.

Tony spent a few moments coming up with ideas as to how to improvise – some sort of cushioning he could put over it at night, perhaps? – when he realized that Steve's breath had evened out. He had fallen asleep, deeply and quickly. Tony frowned, noting that clearly the arc reactor couldn't be _too_ uncomfortable – or Steve had just gotten used to sleeping anywhere back in the army. Tony hoped it was the former.

A few moments later, Tony was still awake. The arc reactor was whirling louder than before, a sign that his heart rate had apparently picked up. He unconsciously held Steve a little tighter, frowning at the light grunt the other man let out as he pressed his back into Tony's chest, as if to acquiesce him. Tony clenched his eyes shut, willing his mind to shut down and allow him a few hours of rest, if only to please Steve.

His mind refused, instead focused on increasing the volume of every damn noise within shot – the cars outside that he normally couldn't hear echoed through the bedroom. The AC sounded as if it were quite literally blasting. Steve's breathing was loud and labored – had it been that loud before? Was he okay?

Tony's eyes shot open, his hand tracing along Steve's bare chest, searching for a pulse. When he finally found it, he let out a sigh of relief. It was regular, fine, nothing wrong. Still, he kept his hand on the spot, focusing on the vibrations within. A faint trace of moonlight found its way into the room, casting shadows and causing Steve to whine, burying his head further into a pillow in an attempt to escape the light.

"Jarvis, blackout." Tony whispered. The remaining dimmed lights immediately flashed out, a dark black curtain falling over the windows and casting the room in pitch darkness. For a moment, Tony simply laid there, waiting to see if sleep would overcome him now that the room was dark.

Then he began to panic. It was barely present, at first, his arc reactor speeding up just a little bit more, but considering it had already been going faster than normal (Tony had passed it off as a result of being so close to Steve – he still wasn't used to it) he had hardly paid it mind. He palmed Steve's chest, internally counting each heartbeat; one, two, one, two, one two, over and over, refusing to fall into the cliché of counting sheep. Still, his mind whirled and refused to shut down. He couldn't tell what it was focused on – he wasn't thinking about work, or fighting, or his suit, or anything, really. He was just…thinking. Slowly, he let his eyes closed, pressing into the warm body next to him.

A loud screech and the sound of car horns made him jerk, his eyes opening and his nails digging into the Captain's chest. His breath quickly became labored as he shifted around, clinging to the taller man and wrapping around him like a cat. He hoped desperately that Steve would keep sleeping, the thought of this breaking what seemed to be a very delicate balance the two of them had found unbearable.

Of course if Tony had learned one thing in his life, it was that he would always get the exact opposite of what he hoped for. If he hoped a suit would function right, it would catch fire the moment it was powered on. If he hoped the rain would hold off until he walked into the tower, New York City would begin to flood. He didn't get results by hoping, he got them by working. So, the more he hoped Steve would maintain his even breathing, the more it seemed to grow erratic, his heart beat increasing in tempo and his muscles flexing as he began the slow process of waking.

Blue eyes opened, blinking away remnants of sleep and attempting to adjust to the darkness. Mild discomfort blossomed in his chest, and it took him a moment to realize the source – Tony was, for some reason, digging his nails into his flesh, clinging to him like he was a drowning man at sea. Steve struggled to turn around, gently grasping Tony's hands and pulling them away while he turned to face the brunette, moving his hands to cup his face. Wild brown eyes jerked around, seeming to take in everything before finally settling on Steve's face. Relief filled Tony as he moved closer, forcing himself into Steve's grip and burying his head into the other's shoulder.

"What's wrong? Nightmares?" Steve asked, his tone far gentler than a man his size should be allowed. His hands had moved again, cupping the back of Tony's head and pressing gently, keeping them flush together. His other hand had moved over to his back, tracing around his muscles and down his spine. Tony shook his head.

"Didn't fall asleep." He whispered back, "Sorry. This doesn't…doesn't normally happen to me, I can't remember the last time I-"

Steve pulled him tighter, shushing him and effectively ending his ramble before it could begin. He moved, flipping the other man around despite heavy protests and Tony attempting to grab at his shoulders, desperate to maintain contact. No, he couldn't lost Steve _now_, he had just gotten him, he needed him, he didn't want to be alone-

But Steve didn't leave. He pulled Tony against his chest, resting his chin on his head and trapping him in his arms. His hands traced a few loops around the arc reactor, smiling in relief as it began to slow. The room filled with the light blue light, cutting through the darkness and giving everything a soothing glow. Tony let out a sigh of relief, his hands reaching up to clasp around Steve's, holding them together and preventing any potential the man had for leaving the second the he fell asleep. A small chuckle escaped the blonde, and he pressed a gentle kiss against his hair, hugging a little tighter.

Tony bit back a comment about ruining his image, unwilling to take the chance that Steve may take him seriously. For now, he just grinned and pressed himself closer to the warm body, taking comfort in the strength of the arms surrounding him and his bedroom's familiar blue haze. Steve found himself falling asleep a short while later, soothed himself by the light whirl of the arc reactor and Tony's finally stable breathing.

Tony woke up first, his hands still covering Steve's and his body still snug against the other. At some point in the night their legs had managed to tangle together and the sheets covering them had slipped down to their waist. Part of him wanted to get up, go downstairs and get back to work; he had lost precious time by sleeping, after all. He easily shushed that part, shutting his eyes and just enjoying the quiet of the morning.

Steve woke up a short while later. Neither of them mentioned the events of the previous night, Tony out of mild embarrassment and Steve out of pure understanding. He had PTSD too, and he knew how impossible darkness could prove to be some nights.

They didn't argue about who got what sleeping position later; it was understood that Steve would always curve around Tony, and Tony would always press so tightly against him it was impossible to tell who was clinging and who was being clung to. Tony found he liked being wrapped in Steve's arms far more than he expected, especially because Steve was always exceedingly careful of where they were – always around his lower torso, never covering the blue light of the reactor. He never denied Tony of that comfortable glow, never complained of the light keeping him up. Truth be told, Steve enjoyed the light just as much as Tony did; he loved waking up to the soft noise and light, and the knowledge that Tony was there. He feared the day he woke up to darkness, to silence, the day when the reactor finally failed to turn back on.

They still had bad nights, of course, but both found them growing less and less frequent. And, of course, even when the y_ did _happen, they always found comfort in each other, in the familiar warmth and breathing and the knowledge that all they had to do was move and the other would wake up and respond. They didn't understand how much they hated being alone until they discovered they would never face it again; no matter what fights went on in the morning, they would always have these nights together.

**Authors Note: Hey guys! So far, so good! Thanks to everyone who reviewed/added this story to their alerts, it's a great motivator! As I said before, I've got a pretty good list of prompts going, but if there's anything you want to see, feel free to recommend it and I'll see what I can do! **


	3. Why Tony Loves Steve

Tony never believed in love at first sight. Until recently, he found it hard to believe in love at all – there were people you didn't mind being around, sure, and maybe even some people you actually could enjoy spending some time with, but after a while they all ended up falling back into the same category – annoying and stupid.

That was one of the reasons he feared getting into a relationship with Steve. He liked spending time with the guy. He looked forward to when the other would come down into the lab with a sketchbook in hand and just sit there, keeping him company without being overly intrusive. He liked when Steve would grab him by the shoulders and force him upstairs to eat whatever dinner he had cooked up that night, liked that Steve didn't make it a point to lecture him constantly on something he thought he would never change (thought, because Tony had to say ever since Steve he made it a point to try and remember to take care of himself). He liked the lost look Steve would get whenever someone made a pop-culture reference he didn't get, and the dawning look of comprehensive he'd get later when Tony showed him whatever media it came from.

He liked how the soldier wasn't entirely afraid to cry in front of him, as they had found out thanks to a couple of Disney movies that both men had to admit were sad. He liked how despite how shy and uncertain Steve was, he wasn't afraid. He'd put his arms around Tony when it was clear he needed it and, sometimes, just to do it. He gave in to Tony without making it easy, he knew how to play Tony with his puppy-dog eyes but he didn't overuse them and make Tony his…well, his bitch.

No, Tony was never one to believe in love at first sight – he wasn't romantic, ask any of his ex-girlfriends (although, you'd probably have to ask them multiple times…he was fairly confident that wasn't the first reason any of his relationships failed). Yet, the moment he saw Steve he was certain he felt that clichéd spark in his chest, that feeling of butterflies in his stomach he hadn't had since he was a slightly-less-confident teenager. Part of it, Tony was ashamed to admit, was definitely due to his looks. Blonde hair, tall, muscular…Steve was basically a walking poster boy for any modeling agency; in fact, if Steve ever needed extra cash he could undoubtedly make a career off of his looks. Of course, Steve was also easily embarrassed, and while he had the feeling girls would be completely taken by his easily-triggered blushes and youthful naiveté, most men would find it, well, unmanly. Not to mention, Tony wasn't sure he'd like other people being able to so easily ogle what was his – he didn't like people flirting with Steve as it was, he couldn't imagine how many would use modeling photos of the super-soldier as fuel for their desperate and impossible sexual fantasies.

Desperate and impossible. Where had he heard those words before? If he'd thought about the super soldier a couple of months ago, he'd have used those same words (internally, of course, because no way was Tony ever allowing anyone to see that he was anything but annoyingly confident) to describe his own desires. In a way, he was no different than those hero-worshipping fanatics – he had been among them since he was a kid. He just managed to reach his goal. He didn't have to imagine what it was like to touch and taste, or to have the other bent against them, both of them focused only on the other. Some days he woke up in the lab and felt certain that he had dreamed up everything. Then he'd hear those heavy footsteps and the door to the lab would open (he really should have a look at Jarvis' programming one of these days, he was certain he hadn't programmed in anything that would allow for the machine to feel _pity_) and Steve would appear, striding over to Tony and leaning down against him. And then he'd know that _no, he hadn't been dreaming, this was all very real _and he'd have to bite back a smile because Steve couldn't know just how easily and quickly and _desperately _Tony had fallen for him.

He couldn't know, because if he did then Steve would know how easy it would be to _break _Tony, and while he was certain the super soldier would never do such a thing (he'd seen that look of complete adoration in Steve's eyes, the man didn't even try and hide it) he wouldn't put it past others. Tony still suffered nightmares of losing his arc reactor, of crawling along the floor and realizing he couldn't make it _and oh god, he was going to die here, wasn't he, this was it_. At least with the nuke it didn't matter – he didn't have time to realize he was dying, he didn't remember anything besides briefly falling and waking up and that panicked look on Steve's face that told him everything no one would ever tell him.

Tony was the older one in this relationship, maybe not truly (age was always a tricky concept for them, but Tony had come to the firm conclusion that time in an iceberg _did not count_, especially considering Steve hadn't aged a damn bit) but still, and he was the one who had spent most of his life taking damn stupid risks and knowing that every choice he made inevitably resulted in shortening his lifespan by days, months, sometimes even years. He drank, he did drugs, he fucked around, he barely made sure his basic needs were met and he _never_ checked before crossing the street, even if he could _hear_ the cars zooming towards him. He had more enemies than he cared to list, some because of his previous weapons business, some who wanted his suit, some because he'd slept with the wrong person, and some for reasons even _he_ wasn't sure of. He'd be damned if something happened to Steve because of him, because one of his enemies knew that was the best way to truly and completely destroy Tony Stark. Because, despite how proud Pepper had been of her 'proof' of Tony having a heart, he didn't need anything in a glass to show it – all he had to do was look at Steve and he would become painfully aware that yes, even _he_ wasn't above stupid emotions and feelings.

He couldn't imagine waking up and living life knowing that he was the reason for something happening to Captain America. Some days, he even thought this relationship might well and true be the biggest mistake of his life. Everything he touched wound up in flames, and as much as he wanted to believe this would be different, his track record wouldn't let the fear slip away. Breaking Captain America seemed illegal. He was the epitome of everything pure and good and wholesome, and Tony didn't want to be the guy who ruined that.

He didn't even understand why Steve wanted to waste his time with this. He might not be a billionaire, but he definitely wouldn't have trouble getting his pick of the lot for a relationship. Tony was nothing special; he was the king of fuck ups. He was the last person who deserved to have a chance with Steve.

But who was he to say no to Captain America? Who was he to try and talk sense into someone? Besides, Tony was incredibly selfish. He already couldn't imagine going back to life pre-relationship. Being alone seemed like an impossible thing now. He needed Steve. He needed that bright, real-life-knight, always willing to help and never looking down at anyone and always capable of finding the good in everything Brooklyn kid.

There were a lot of reasons Tony cared about Steve. The list was longer than his list of enemies, it was never ending and it somehow seemed to keep increasing with every passing moment. He had the feeling it would never stop, either, it was like the universe – ever increasing and expanding. The two couldn't be more different, everything about them seemed to clash and for a while when they first met everyone was certain they were no more than a ticking time bomb. Now, though, Tony couldn't imagine finding someone to fit him and complete him more perfectly.

Despite all that, Tony still wasn't sure he was ready to verbally commit to Steve. Those three words had never found their way into this fiery relationship, and even though Steve had made no move to fix this, Tony couldn't help but feel like it was because of him. He couldn't help but feel like he was holding them back; his phobia of committing and lasting relationships was causing Steve to hesitate.

So he waited, refusing to be the first to say it. He'd wait for Steve, because even though he was terrified of commitment he couldn't stand the thought of this not lasting. He refused to chase Steve away by moving faster than his 40's norms and ideals told him were okay – this was already pushing against everything Steve had been raised to believe. He'd wait until Steve took the leap, and then he'd pretend he needed to figure out what to do. Because, really, Tony already knew what his response would be. This wasn't some puppy-dog high-school crush. This was real and extreme, far more so than Pepper or anyone else. Because some days, Tony could imagine himself never leaving, never growing restless and needing space and yelling and pushing until he was left alone again. He could even imagine getting down on one-knee; he could imagine growing old with no one beside him but this one man. And even though the thought terrified him, all he had to do was think back at his list of reasons why Steve Rogers was the most perfect man on the planet and he'd know that there was nothing to be scared of.

**Welcome back, everyone! Thanks so much to everyone who has read/reviewed/favorite/followed this story! So far this story has been mostly fluff, but I've got some smutty prompts to work on later this month – I don't know if I'm going to post them here yet, though. Right now this story is only rated T, so I'd obviously have move the rating up. What do you guys think? Would you mind if this story potentially moved up in rating and included some smutty one-shots?**


	4. Why Steve Loves Tony

Tony was everything Steve wasn't.

He was brash and rude, uncaring and highly judgmental. He pushed people away, not necessarily because he was afraid of hurting them, but because he felt he didn't deserve them. Then, in the spare time he had that _would've _gone towards social interaction, he dedicated himself to building suit after suit after suit, all in an attempt to make himself into someone likeable. Because, really, for as confident as Tony was, that was all the billionaire wanted. To be liked. To stop being looked at as that kid in his father's shadow, that kid who got everything he had in life thanks to his dear, much better than he would ever be, dad.

He didn't easily or willingly show his emotions. Most days, the only way Steve could tell what the guy was thinking was by staring him straight in the eye; if there was one thing the genius hadn't mastered, it was hiding the expression show by those coffee-brown eyes. They were like a clear picture into everything he was thinking about; just one look could tell you if the man was actually listening to you or if he was busily crunching numbers in his head, it could tell you if that cocky smirk was genuine or if you had struck a deep nerve. Steve loved how emotional and expressive those eyes were, his hands itched to try and draw them, although he knew he'd never be able to capture them just right. Of course, those eyes would also tell him how long it had been since Tony was healthy, since he'd had a goodnights sleep or last felt contently full.

Because Tony didn't take care of himself, often spending days at a time holed up in his lab with no outside contact aside from whatever news Jarvis felt was important enough to alert him of. He'd finally finish whatever changes he was working on, test it out and see if it would work. If it didn't, he'd grow panicky and stressed and he'd stay in the lab even longer, often times with an added companion; alcohol. If he did, he'd be all smiles for a day or so, going upstairs to socialize and eat and for a moment managing to put Steve's worries at rest. Then he'd think of something else he could do, or he'd wonder if he had made the right choice in these modifications, or he'd think that this just wasn't enough to make up for all the bad things he blamed himself for. And then he'd race back to his lab and seal himself off again, and the whole process would repeat. And every single time, it nearly broke Steve's heart.

Tony wasn't a bad person. Deep down, Steve knew that, and he was pretty damn sure the rest of the Avengers did too. After all, he didn't have to take them all in; S.H.I.E.L.D had already offered most of them small apartments in the city. Tony had just refused to let them take any of it, going as far as actually intercepting Fury's attempts to move them out (them mostly being Steve, because if there was one thing Fury seemed worried about it was Iron Man fucking up Captain America with fake history lessons or just generally getting onto the Captain's nerves until he eventually broke and beat the crap out of him). When Steve had mentioned he was considering trying to find a job, Tony had even offered to put him on Stark Industries payroll so he'd have pocket money (Steve refused, of course, and the prospect of a job was never mentioned again out of fear that Tony would actually make good on his offer. Steve was already uncomfortable living in the extravagant tower without rent; he didn't need Tony throwing money at him too).

Steve blamed most of Tony's insecurities on his childhood. As much as he looked up to Howard Stark, even he had to admit he had definitely screwed up Tony's childhood. In a way, Steve blamed himself for that. It was just one more unforeseen consequence the serum had; if he had never taken it, Howard wouldn't have spent all of Tony's childhood looking for him. Maybe then he would have been around more as a parent, maybe then Tony wouldn't have grown up thinking he was always second best, thinking he had to work to overcome the shadow of a fallen super soldier before he could get any respect.

Deep down Steve knew that wasn't true. Howard Stark was a lot of things, but Steve had never seen him as being a capable parent. He was too off-balance, too much like how Tony had ended up being. He spent months in the lab working without reason, building the next best thing had always seemed to be enough for him. Whereas Tony got his motivation from his faulty need for redemption or his desire to make the people around him happy, Howard got his motivation from himself. He just wanted to see what could be done, and he'd lose interest as soon as the job was accomplished. Steve had the terrible feeling that, regardless of his being there, Tony would have ended up with a bad childhood one way or another.

Still, it hurt Steve to think about the man before he had developed his aloof façade. Before he had discovered that it wound up hurting way less if you just _didn't_ let people in, if you shoved everyone off before they had a chance to get anyone near you and filled your need for social interaction with people you could pay to do as you say. Sometimes he still wondered why Tony had bothered to change enough to let _him_ in, he was nothing special. If anything, Steve was the one guy he'd never expect Tony to let in. After all, even if he believed Howard would have been a poor parent regardless, Tony certainly had to believe that Steve was the center of his dad's attention, and thus the reason he had grown up alone.

Steve didn't question Tony's decision though. He was afraid to. What if Tony realized that Steve was right and stopped talking to him? What if he left the Avengers altogether and the team began to split up? More importantly, how could he ever expect their relationship to continue if he brought up this point?

Because as much as it frightened him, Steve did want this relationship to continue. True, he had been raised in the 40's and still got a little nervous showing anything other than platonic feelings towards Tony when others were around (luckily Tony understood and they hadn't really told anyone they were together yet; it wasn't so much that they were keeping a secret as they were not bringing up what no one asked about), something about being with the genius felt right. He liked it when Tony smiled, because when they first met those honest and genuine smiles were so rare, and he liked knowing that he was somewhat responsible for putting that smile on the man's face. He liked having someone to take care of, even though it bothered him that Tony was so foolishly reckless with his life.

That was Tony's one absolute fault, Steve thought. He didn't care about himself at all. He didn't even think to look after he jumped, he just did things. There was no hope that they would work out, just him taking risk after risk after risk. He pushed his suit to the brink, even after Jarvis warned him that he was low on power. If he was told he couldn't do something he'd throw everything away to prove it wrong. He was absolutely careless when it came to his own life, and Steve just didn't understand it. It wasn't so much that Steve hated how Tony wouldn't eat or sleep on his own (although that bothered the super solider a lot, too), it was that he didn't think to keep himself safe when fighting. He didn't think he was worth keeping safe. If there was a grenade thrown at the Avengers, Steve was certain Tony would leap at it. The problem was, he wasn't sure if it'd be because Tony wanted them to live, or because he wanted himself to die.

Steve loved Tony. He wasn't ashamed to admit it, although he hadn't done so vocally yet. He loved just about everything the man was, he had the confidence Steve had dreamed about both before and after the serum (and he didn't need any risky drugs to make him that way, Tony's confidence was all on his own) and he was remarkably intelligent both naturally and due to his own hard work. The only reason Steve hadn't told Tony yet was fear. Fear that he'd be rejected, partially (although he was fairly certain Tony wouldn't look at him with disgust, he was fairly sure this wasn't just some quick fling to the man), but mostly fear that the words would frighten the man. Tony's fear of commitment wasn't a secret, and Steve wasn't sure how many times the man had actually been told those three words – and how many times they had been said to him honestly, without an end goal attached to them.

So Steve bit back his need to express himself. His need that Tony would wake up one morning and realize that people really did care about him, that Steve cared about him, that Steve would _die_ for him. His need for Tony to understand just how much he cared about him. Instead, he worked to show his love through interaction; randomly popping down to the lab with a bouquet of roses, always making sure he made Tony' s favorite food when he was sure the man hadn't eaten in a while, holding him close at night and never denying him when he needed physical contact. He just hoped Tony could get the underlying message beneath all of his actions, and that one day he'd be ready to hear it put into words.


	5. Getting Older

Steve sighed as he made his way back to the tower, a bouquet of red roses tucked securely in the confines of his jacket in a vain effort to keep the petals safe from the harsh onslaught of rain that had just overtaken the city. He and Tony had gotten into another fight. It wasn't a big one – really, it wasn't much of a fight at all.

It had all started with a grey hair Steve found in the sink. He had only been trying to clean (which already put Tony on edge, as he'd told Steve time and time again that was one of the reasons he built so many robots; to do the useless, boring nonsense that they didn't feel like doing) when he'd found it tucked underneath a thin black comb. At first, Steve tried to laugh it off, pulling it free and waving it in front of Tony, joking about whose head it must have come from. He had briefly held it against his own blonde locks before concluding that no; despite his being over ninety years old he _hadn't_ managed to go grey yet. Then Tony had gone strangely quiet, glaring at the tiny hair as though it had personally attacked him. His eyes quickly moved from the hair to Steve, staring at him with what the soldier could only think to describe of as betrayal. He'd knocked Steve's hand away and stormed out of the bathroom, presumably into his lab (at some point he must have done some tweaking on Jarvis, as the robot wouldn't allow Steve in despite his repeated requests) and no one had seen him since.

So, of course, Steve felt it his duty to play the part of the good boyfriend and try and convince Tony to forgive him for whatever wrong he had committed (and then promptly figure out what exactly that wrong was, because an angry Tony was something no one in the tower wanted). So he'd gone out to a local flower shop and gotten the nicest looking rose bouquet they had, his plan hampered only by the sudden rush of rain the city had suddenly been subjected to. That was just his luck; he hadn't even brought an umbrella, and he wasn't really in the mood to mess with that ridiculous touch screen phone Tony had insisted he get. Fate already decided, Steve resigned himself to a walk in the rain, his movements slow and careful to avoid any damage coming to his fragile gift.

By the time he got back he was soaked to the bone, his hair clinging to his forehead and his clothes stiff and waterlogged, making movement hard. He focused in on the job at hand before beginning to wonder whether or not he should go upstairs, shower, and change into some fresh clothes before going to see his boyfriend.

His question was answered for him when he stepped off onto his and Tony's shared floor and nearly walked straight into the genius, hands fisted around a soaked plastic bag. Brown eyes glared up at him for but a moment before the shorter man jerked away, brushing past Steve without a second thought. The blonde stood, mouth agape and flowers temporarily forgotten in his coat, eyes trained on Tony's disappearing form as he made his way not towards the elevator, but….was Tony headed into the_ bathroom_?

There was no way Tony had known Steve would be coming back now, nor that he was desperate for a shower. So, then ,was Steve supposed to believe it was nothing more than _coincidence _that brought Tony upstairs at the exact same time as Steve, with a soaked package of his own?

A soaked package. Steve's thoughts immediately went back to the thin plastic bag his boyfriend had been clutching, his mind sorting through all sorts of potential contents. Steve had thought Tony had been in the lab, but the bag was definitely wet, which meant Tony must have been outside at some point. His hair and clothes seemed dry (Steve recalled that they felt a little damp when he'd run into the man, but he'd previously passed that off as Tony being sweaty from his work). So, Tony had not only gone out, he'd gone somewhere he knew was far enough to drive a car to (which would mean it had to have been a decent drive, because Tony, oddly enough, actually enjoyed gong on short walks, especially when he was angry or frustrated). Steve's mind ran through a list of places Tony frequented. Most of them were bars, but the man didn't look even slightly tipsy, so those had all been quickly ruled out. Where else did Tony go? There was a long list of chain coffee shops they'd been to recently, as well as the occasional restaurant or grocery store. He hadn't come back with coffee, though, and Steve was certain he hadn't been gone long enough for Tony to have drunk the entire thing there. And he was fairly certain Tony wouldn't go to a restaurant on his own, especially not one he had previously been to with Steve, not when they were fighting.

That left the grocery store, then, which matched up with the idea of Tony returning with a plastic bag. But, they'd just been grocery shopping last week, and he couldn't recall ever being able to return home with a single bag. What had Tony bought, then?

The super soldier ran a hand through his still-soaked hair, suddenly remembering the flowers. He jerked them out of his jacket, frowning slightly when he saw that some of the petals had been damaged by the run in. Hopefully Tony would still like them.

With that, the man turned towards their shared bathroom, knuckles rapping loudly against the solid door.

"Go away!" Steve sighed, having already predicted Tony would be lax to let him in.

"Come on, Tony, let me in." Steve tried to keep the frustration of his boyfriend's childish behavior out of his tone.

"No!"

"Tony, if you don't let me right now I'm going to bust the door down," Steve growled out.

Steve was proud of how long he waited before finally caving and making good on his threat, holding the flowers carefully with one hand while he leaned back and landed a hard kick near the lock of the door. He was careful, only wanting the door to splinter, not fully break; he wasn't sure where exactly Tony was in the room, and he wasn't willing to have the door accidently crash into him. Another well-placed kick got the desired results, a decent sized hole cracking through the thick door, with enough space for Steve to fit his hand through. He reached through and blindly groped around until he found the lock, undoing it and proceeding to enter the room despite numerous protests from Tony begging him to stop and leave him alone.

When he finally got the lock undone and pushed the door open, he marched inside the room, flowers held out to the terrified man before him.

The terrified man whose foot was currently placed over the discarded plastic bag, its presumed contents opened and clutched in his hands.

"Tony…" Steve started slowly, still taking in the scene before him, "is that…is that a box of _hair dye_?"

Tony's eyes flashed between Steve's face and said box of hair dye before suddenly flickering and focusing on Steve's hands; namely, the red bouquet held in them.

"You got me flowers?" Tony said happily. The box dropped to the floor, contents luckily staying in, as Tony bounced forward and pulled the red flowers from Steve, stroking the petals reverently. Steve bit back a smile and rolled his eyes gently, amused by his boyfriends reaction. For someone who had all the money in the world, Tony got crazy excited whenever anyone put thought into getting him something, and he _especially_ loved it when that 'anyone' was Steve. Holding his arms out, Steve released a sigh of relief as Tony stepped towards him, pushing the side of his body against Steve's chest, his thick hair brushing against Steve's chin. For now, as Tony still brushed rough digits against silky petals, all was forgiven.

Of course, that still left the question of why, exactly, Steve had needed to seek forgiveness in the first place. Said question could probably best be answered with the temporarily forgotten box currently lying abandoned on the bathroom tile.

"So, what's with the hair dye?" Steve asked gently, hands rubbing against Tony's back in an attempt to keep him from getting angry again.

"It's _hair dye_, Steve. Might not have been so popular back in the day, but surely even _you_ know what hair dye is used for? It's sorta in the name, after all…" Tony trailed off and Steve latched a finger around his chin, gently trying to push his head up to gain eye contact. He frowned when Tony refused, instead choosing to jerk his head to the side in an effort to free himself.

"I know what it's used for, Tony," Steve said, exasperated, "I meant why do you have it? Last time I checked people don't really dye their hair the same exact color." Steve froze as apprehension dawned on him, shame slowly filling him. Meanwhile, Tony somehow managed to make the floor look absolutely interesting, his face showing a small hint of color as he grumbled out an incoherent response that Steve didn't bother to ask him to clarify.

"That grey hair…" He trailed off, knowing Tony would know what he meant.

"'M getting' old." Tony chocked out.

"Tony, you're not old. You're younger than _me_; you aren't allowed to call yourself old."

"Yeah, but you don't _look_ old, Steve. You look the same as when you were unthawed, the same as when you were frozen. I've been aging every damn day. And pretty soon, I won't be able to just dye the evidence away, and then you'll realize you could do better and _you'll leave me_ and I don't _want_ you to leave me, Steve, so you gotta let me do this-"

"Tony!" Steve cut the brunette off, dragging him closer and forcing the man to turn and face him, "Tony, I _don't care_ about the color of your hair. People age, Tony, it's a fact of life. And _no, _that's not me encouraging you to go to the lab to try and stop it."

He paused, looking down at the crestfallen man before him.

"Tony. I love you. That's not going to change just because you have a couple of grey hairs. I'm not leaving you, Tony. You can't get rid of me that easily."

"Yeah, you say that now. Wait until it all starts to fall out, wait until I can't keep up with you-"

"Tony!" Steve interjected yet again, "None of that matters. You wanna know what _I_ want, Tony? What I really and truly want?" Tony nodded his head.

"I want to grow old with you. I want to know that I'll wake up to you every morning not just tomorrow, but _years_ from now. I want us to be that crazy couple you always point out in the park or at the diner. I want you forever, Tony, not just for the short-term."

Tony gulped, and Steve could see a retort beginning to bubble to the surface. He quickly cut it off, sealing their lips together in a brief but meaningful kiss, pulling away and resting his forehead against the other man.

"Now, will you throw out the hair dye?"

"….Fine." And Steve laughed, as Tony fisted his free hand into Steve's shirt, proceeding to pull him down to meet Tony in another kiss.

**Authors note: Hey guys! I was a little worried I wouldn't get the chance to post this tonight, as our campus had an issue with wifi today and we had no internet access. Luckily they managed to fix it! **

**I've decided that if I **_**do**_** do any m-rated oneshots for NaNoWriMo, I won't post them on here. If I do post them, they'll be separate from this story, so the rating here will not change. Because of that, however, some of my prompts won't work here, so if you guys have any ideas please throw them at me!**

**Also, please note that all of these are completely unbetaed – part of NaNoWriMo is turning off your internal editor, so I haven't really been as careful as I should have been. When November is done and I've finished the challenge, I will hopefully be going back and editing all of these (which will include refining the formatting and making these easier to read)! Thanks for reading, and thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favorited or followed! **


	6. Apple Pie is for Americans, Steve

Steve was Captain America.

This wasn't some new realization or a sudden thought that had popped into Tony's head; he had known about Steve's heroic identity since he was a child. It's just…well, sometimes Steve would just do things that would make him step back and realize how close to home he was to his alternate persona. Like now, for instance.

"What are you doing?" The billionaire asked, the question coming out a lot less rhetorical than he had originally aimed. He stared at the blonde, eyes raking over his body before settling on his wide, slightly confused blue eyes. Said blonde was currently decked out in his normal 'modern day' attire, a cotton white t-shirt that clung far too tightly to his toned chest and a pair of wash-worn jeans that were starting to get holes around the knees and frays around the bottom. All that and, oddly enough, a slightly stained checkered apron.

Which wasn't surprising, considering the man _was_ in the kitchen, and, well, it _was_ Steve Tony was talking about here. Tony had to admit the man had fairy godmother qualities about him, and seeing him cook and clean was like watching an animal in their native habitant. Something about it just seemed right.

"I'm baking, Tony. It's my turn to cook tonight." Ah, that explained it. The Avengers had an unspoken agreement that each one would take one night to get dinner (all nights were accounted for but Wednesday, which was their reserved pizza, beer and movie night). Tony used 'get' loosely, because for most of them it resulted in no more than paying for whatever take-away they got that night (which, in retrospect, definitely meant Tony was getting a raw deal, as he was the reason most of these idiots had money in the first place). The only people who really tried to cook were Bruce and Steve, and even Bruce had stopped when he realized his other personality got stressed whenever something started to burn.

But Steve had always taken his duties seriously, even if they were as silly as getting dinner. Thus, Monday nights proved to be everyone's favorite dinner nights, as they were always homemade and typically included dessert. Of course, last Tony checked Steve was making some sort of lasagna, and the ingredients currently spread out on his counter definitely did not fall into the lasagna ingredient category.

"Yeah, I got that from where you were standing, Capsicle. I meant what are you making; last I checked we were getting lasagna tonight. I don't know how they made it back in the war torn forties, but nowadays we definitely don't put _apples _into our _lasagna_."

Steve sighed, exasperated, and Tony was certain he could detect a slight roll of eyes, definitely aimed at him. When had his Captain become so sassy? He had to chock back a laugh at the sarcasm laced in the man's voice as he replied.

"The lasagna's already in the oven, Tony. This is for dessert. I'm pretty sure apple pies didn't end with my generation."

Okay, no, Tony was not ashamed to admit he lost his shit. Captain America trying to be sassy was an absolutely ridiculous sight, especially with the man currently wearing an apron and holding what had to be the world's tiniest knife, his eyes now focused almost completely on his current task of cutting the apples. Apples he had carefully picked from the bag beside him, giving each one an incredibly thorough once-over that left Tony wondering whether the kitchen was hot from the heat of the oven or from the looks Steve was unconsciously giving.

The thought managed to compose him for a moment, only for him to lose his shit _again_ when his mind finally caught up with what was happening. Steve, no, _Captain America_ was in his kitchen _baking apple pie_. Tony had thought it bad enough when he'd found out the man _actually owned _American flag boxers (although he was pissed he hadn't found out in the bedroom, but rather from making a crude joke about the type of people who would buy such a thing and noticing the incredible blush that overtook Steve's cheeks) or when he'd heard the guy humming the national anthem in the shower. But this? This took the cake. Tony didn't even know why he was surprised by the sight. The man was the epitome of America, and there was nothing more American than apple pie (well, okay, _maybe _were some other things: Jersey Shore, for example, or incredibly unsatisfied but still apathetic voters. A better phrasing would probably be there was nothing more American that Americans were _proud_ of then apple pie).

Tony didn't even bother trying to compose himself, ignoring the slight moisture gathering around his eyes as he approached the counter, peering into the now-filled bowl. A coma-inducing mixture of apples cinnamon and sugar greeted him, and without another thought Tony fished a slice out of the bowl, sucking on it briefly before pulling it in with his tongue, eyes glancing up to meet with Steve's, revealing in how wide and completely focused on him they were. He smirked and, refusing to break eye contact, grabbed another slice.

Only to drop it back into the bowl when his hand was swatted at, Steve's fingers catching around his wrist and pulling his hand away from the bowl.

"If I'd known you'd sneak down here I'd have gotten more apples. I thought you were gonna be in your lab until dinner?" Steve moved the captured hand up, careful not to get any of the sticky mixture clinging to Tony's fingers on him.

"Oh? What, I can't come visit my favorite superhero anymore?" Tony teased, gently trying to pull his hand away in mock-anger.

"That's not what I said," Steve disagreed. His eyes were still trained on Tony's, and he tentatively pulled the man's hand closer, stopping when the fingers were mere centimeters from his lips. His tongue darted out, seeming to hesitate for a moment as cool air hit it, before clearly setting on its mission and pressing against Tony's fingers, licking and lapping at the sugary mixture. His eyes nonchalantly watched Tony, taking in his sudden increase in breath and the subtle way his body tensed in rigid anticipation. He carefully sucked a finger in, his tongue rolling around it until all the remaining apple residue was gone. He released it with a soft pop, fingers falling away from his wrist and allowing the hand to drop to Tony's side.

"Hmm," the blonde mumbled, already turning away and focusing back in on his work, spreading the apple mixture into the pie crust. Tony was dumbstruck, his hand limp (and slightly wet and _definitely_ warm, and Tony was certain this wasn't the work of the oven by this point) at his side and his mouth slack and slightly open.

He felt something else press against his lips, and he moved to press his lips shut again only to feel it press harder against him, insisting on being allowed through. He let his eyes drift down, going painfully cross-eyed for a moment while he tried to make out whatever was trying to gain passage into his mouth.

By the time he had made out the vague shape of the object, his tongue had already alerted him as to what it was; an apple slice. It pressed against the sharp edge of his teeth, getting caught in his mouth even as his boyfriend released it.

"mmrph-" Tony mumbled, his words cut off as the crisp fruit got sucked in and wedged between his cheeks. "Thought you said I couldn't have anymore."

"I'm not going to discourage you from eating, Tony."

The brunette smiled a Cheshire cat grin, peering up at the captain as he chewed down the delicious sugar-coated food and quickly swallowing it down. He spared another glance; the captain's back was to him again as he pulled on oven mitts and shoved the newly-prepared pie in the oven, trading it with the lasagna. He placed the hot dish on the counter before pulling the gloves off again, tossing them to the side and turning to face Tony again, leaning against the countertop with far more innocence than a man his size should possess.

"Whatcha thinking about, Cap?" Tony finally bit the bullet, eyes lighting up as Steve worried his lower lip.

"Oh. I was just..thinking. You know."

"About?" Tony was getting antsy now, shifting his weight from foot to foot in an effort to hide his growing anticipation. Luckily, Steve didn't disappoint, pushing away from the counter and striding over to the shorter man until they were chest to chest, Steve's head tilted down towards him.

"About all the things I could make you do," Steve's breath was hot against Tony's face, coating him like a blanket and he couldn't help but try and lean up towards him, desperate for more contact.

"Mmm. I'd do anything you ask, Cap, you know that." Tony jerked his head forward, intent on capturing the captain's lips, only to be left sorely disappointed as the blonde pulled back and, with entirely too much happiness, responded;

"Great! So you'll go and set the table, then? I'll finish up in the kitchen and be out in a jiff!" With that Steve turned away one last time, all his attention back on his nearly-finished dinner, leaving Tony absolutely shocked.

Steve would be lying if he didn't smile at Tony's pouting reflection in the glass cabinet door, but he managed to bite back the laugh that was bubbling inside of him until after the man had grabbed some plates and dejectedly left the room. He'd have hell to pay for tonight, sure, but for now, he'd enjoy the somewhat rare opportunity he'd gotten to tease his boyfriend.

**Happy Election Day to all my American readers! I hope everyone who was able went out and exercised their right to vote!**

**Just as a warning, we're supposed to get hit with some snow tomorrow night into Thursday, and we're at risk of losing some trees and, in turn, losing power again. So, if I don't post anything tomorrow night or Thursday, know that it's not because I've abandoned this! It just means we either lost power or internet action, and in either case you can bet I'll still be writing. If there is any sort of problem and I'm unable to post for a bit, I'll just keep updating this into the first few days of December!**


	7. Coming Home

Tony hated when Steve had to go away for solo missions. He hated how hard it could be to get in contact with the other, he hated having to remember stupid things like time zone differences and he hated waking up in bed cold and alone and not wrapped up securely in strong arms.

Most of all, though, he hated the waiting. He hated how no matter how hard he tried to focus on his work, his mind would always spring back towards Steve, and wondering where he was, how he was doing and if he was safe. He knew Steve was a super soldier, but after getting to know the man that did little to quell his fears. Steve liked to say that Tony was headstrong and prone to getting himself into dangerous situations. Tony would never disagree with the assessment –it had, after all, partially been what had originally blocked him from getting in on the Avengers initiative, but he had to say that for as bad as he was, Steve didn't think about himself at all. If he saw someone in trouble he was prone to acting without regard for his own life; he'd run into a burning building without thinking about how he was supposed to get out. For the most part, this had all worked out in his favor; people considered the man a hero above heroes. Tony knew better.

They didn't have to sit and wait at home while Steve was gone, knowing that it was honestly probably only a matter of time before the man got in more trouble than he could handle and something _happened_, something bad and something that would leave Tony with getting an early morning phone call that he never wanted to hear but couldn't dream of ignoring.

Taking a deep breath, Tony attempted to push his dismal thoughts to the side, glancing at the clock for what had to be the fiftieth time today. 3:43. That couldn't be possible. The last time he had checked the clock had read 3:40, and that had definitely been more than 3 minutes ago. But, if the clock was off…that meant it was broken. And if the clock was broken, who knew what time it was? True, he could check _another_ clock, but how would he know that had the right time? What if all the clocks in the tower were screwed up, and he was late meeting Steve, and Steve thought he didn't care, and what if that _made Steve leave_ -

No. Mind made up, Tony pushed away from his work and raced out of the lab, his sock-covered feet sliding over the smooth tile and almost causing him to crash into the wall. Luckily the man prided himself on being graceful and he managed to save himself before impact, slamming his feet against the stairs as he made his way up, far too impatient for the elevator.

He reached for his phone shortly before reaching the last set of stairs, fingers quickly tapping away a familiar number.

"Yes, Mr. Stark?"

"Happy! I need you out front ASAP!" Tony's breath was heaving, and he forced himself to rest against the main door for a moment as he waited for Happy to pull up in the sleek black car. The moment he saw the vehicle he was racing again, feet pounding against the sidewalk. He pulled the car door open before it had stopped moving, causing Happy to let out an irritated squeak, but ignored it in favor of barking off orders;

"Airport, Happy!"

"The…airport, Mr. Stark?"

"_Yes_, for the love of God, that's what I _said_, Happy. Steve's coming home today; we gotta get to the airport!"

"I'm sorry, sir, I was under the impression Steve's plane wasn't supposed to land for another-"

"Damnit, Happy, we gotta go!" The driver let out an aggravated sigh, pulling the car away from the tower and starting off towards the airport. If Tony wanted to be hours early, then so be it. It was uncharacteristic of the man, sure, but Happy had learned long ago that once Tony believed he had to do something, no one was going to talk him out of it.

The ride to the airport was tense. The only noise in the car came from the two men breathing, as well as the occasional rapping and tapping as Tony fidgeted, his legs constantly bouncing and his fingers tapping out an unknown rhythm against the leather of the car. Even outside the car seemed unnaturally quiet; there was still the occasional car honking or the obnoxious screech of breaks as a cab driver tried to pull off towards the sidewalk in an effort to grab some loud, lost-looking tourists. There was no more traffic than usual, and Happy was torn between relief and dismay at how fast he found the airport approaching. He wasn't sure how much of Tony's unnerving movement he could take, but at the same time he knew the man was going to be a bitch later when he realized how early he was.

It proved not to matter, as Happy had no sooner pulled into the airport parking lot and Tony had pulled the door open and jumped out of the car, barely managing to slam the door behind him as he hit the ground. He winced a little at the mild spark of pain that shot through his foot, his leg threatening to buckle under him as he surged to regain his center of balance. Luckily no one in the lot seemed to really pay much notice to him, and Tony found himself jogging once more towards the large glass doors.

The moment he stepped inside his eyes began scanning, searching for the familiar fake smiles of the help desk. He made his way through throngs of people, pressing his way forward despite some mild protests and mumbling his name whenever it seemed like someone might stop him. Finally, he got to the front.

"Hey, sorry, Tony Stark, I'm looking for a gate, the plane would be coming back from Washington D.C.-"

"I'm sorry, sir, that particular plane hasn't come in yet-"

"Yeah, yeah, okay just what gate _will_ it come in at?" Tony persisted, running his hands through his hair in agitation.

"Gate 5A, sir but it's not due for-"

Tony didn't wait for he to finish her sentence, disappearing the moment she had uttered the information he'd requested. He successfully managed to find his way to gate 5A, worry filling him when he noted that no one was there. The seats were all empty, although a small overhead board announced that this would be the docking area for Steve's plane, it's estimated arrival time practically screaming at him with its bright red coloring; 8 P.M. Tony pulled his phone out and glanced at the time, eyes widening as he shot his eyes up to compare with the wall clock. Both read the same: 430. Shit. Maybe his workshop clock wasn't off after all.

Letting out a huff of breath, Tony made his way to one of the uncomfortable cushioned chair, hunching his back and carding his fingers through his hair again. What was he supposed to do for 3 and a half hours? He thought about calling Steve, but he wasn't sure what time he had boarded, and to be honest he didn't really want to explain that he'd been so anxious to see the guy he'd wound up showing up over three hours early (probably more, because Tony had been on his fair share of planes and he knew how rarely they landed on time). After all, Tony had a reputation to maintain, regardless of whether or not he was still a playboy.

After a few short minutes of resting, he found himself getting restless again and decided to explore the airport. He made his way around, stopping to get dinner (Steve would be so proud, even if it was only a slice of pizza and a soda) and perusing through a few of the oddly-stocked gift shops. He thought about buying Steve something, debated as to whether that would give his early arrival away, and quickly concluded fuck it, he's Tony Stark and he can do whatever he wanted.

Which lead to a whole new set of problems. Tony didn't normally get to buy Steve gifts, as much as he'd like to. Despite the fact that the taller blonde thought nothing of showing up with roses for one of their dates, he'd always get this uncomfortable expression when Tony returned the sentiment with a nice watch or an expensive dinner. For a while it had thrown Tony for a loop; nearly all of his relationships had been at least partially built off of his money; it was how he showed his affection. With Steve, it was like learning that the rules you played by were actually completely outdated, and you were left floundering as you tried to play catch-up.

His fingers drifted over cheesy Hallmark cards and wilting bouquets, gossip magazines and New York City memorabilia. Finally, his eyes caught on a small section of gifts, a banner above them proudly announcing 'New York City: Home to America's Favorite Superhero's'. Tony walked over, eyes darting over the small collection of trinkets before coming to rest on one of the few unobnoxious items; a coffee mug. While Steve didn't drink nearly as much coffee as Tony (he said he didn't see the reason to anymore, considering the serum made it pretty much useless), he still enjoyed having a cup in the morning when they ate breakfast. Smiling at his choice, Tony quickly paid and glanced at his watch – 7:30. Not bad. He made his way back to the gate and was happy to see that far more people had arrived. There was still a seat left in clear sight of the doors, which he happily took, placing the bag carefully between his feet and fixing his eyes on the gate.

Luckily from that point time seemed to pass relatively quickly and the plane ran on time, much to Tony's surprise. He waited eagerly for the familiar blonde haired soldier, unable to hold back a wide smile as the man stepped out. The smile grew even wider as he saw Steve's eyes dart around, searching for a bit, before finally landing on him. Steve's face morphed into a smile of his own, and he quickly made his way over, tugging the shorter man up into a tight hug.

"Welcome back, Cap!" Tony chuckled as Steve's arms tightened and carefully ensuring his feet didn't bang against the bag. His arms wrapped around the soldiers waste, happily reciprocating the hug.

"Missed you," Steve gently pulled away, though he kept his hands on Tony. Tony's smile still hadn't faded, though he tried to tone it down.

"Yeah, yeah, missed you too, big guy. I got you something. Think of it as a 'welcome home' present. Wait. No, don't think of this as that, that's coming later and you can bet it'll be better. Think of this as a 'Congrats on being on time' present," Tony bent down to retrieve the bag, though he was painfully aware of how Steve's hands tensed, the man's entire demeanor seeming to change dramatically from those few words.

"Oh, relax," Tony said, pushing the bag into Steve's hands, "it's nothing big, so don't get your star spangled panties in a twist."

Steve let out a snort of laughter at the saying, and though his eyes still narrowed at the bag he accepted it, carefully removing its contents.

Tony shifted uncomfortable as Steve examined his gift. It very quickly hit him how stupid it must look; his boyfriend finally came home from a stupid-ass missing, and the first thing Tony does is give him a coffee mug?

But Steve didn't complain, or even frown. In fact, the man seemed…brighter, smiling as a gentle sort of mirth entered his eyes. He held the cup carefully, like tracing his fingers over the design in reverence.

"I figured, you know, you have a lot of America things considering you're, well _Captain America_, but this way you have something that's, well-"

"Iron Man?" Steve finished, his fingers still stroking the red and gold design. The cup featured Iron Man, his body construed as though he were flying, bold letters announcing his title. Steve finally took his eyes off the mug to stare at his unusually quiet boyfriend, moving to hold it with one hand, thereby freeing his other to pull the brunette in for another tight hug.

"I love it, Tony. Thank you." The words fell against the man's ear like a warm blanket, and a soft wave of heat rushed to his face. Tony let out a strangled 'you're welcome' before pressing his face into Steve's neck, happy to be back where he felt safe and content with the knowledge that the phone call he so dreaded had, however temporarily, been postponed. Tony didn't know what he'd done to deserve Steve in his life, but looking up into those shiny blue eyes, he realized that there was no way he was _ever_ getting that phone call. He wasn't leaving Steve's side, not again. They were both headstrong. If Steve ran headfirst into danger, Tony was positive he'd be right behind him.

With that oddly comforting knowledge in mind, Tony twisted out of Steve's grasp and grabbed ahold of his hand, pulling him out of the airport with a laugh, ready to go home and make up for hours of lost time.


	8. First Date

Tony wasn't nervous.

He had spent the past hour trying on different suits, and since settling on that matter had tied and retied his tie at least eight times, desperate for it to finally look straight. His shoes had been shined to perfection, and his hair was freshly washed and carefully combed. His throat felt painfully dry and he could feel a slight headache coming on.

In short, Tony Stark was a complete and utter mess. But he was not nervous. No, sir. Tony Stark didn't _get_ nervous, especially not for highschool-esque events like a first date. He wasn't a goddamn teenage, as the mirror happily pointed out. And he especially didn't get nervous over first dates with all-American heartthrobs, like Captain America.

He glanced down at his watch, carefully pulling his black suit sleeve up. He still had half an hour to kill. Whatever. That still didn't mean he was nervous. He was just prepared, that was a good thing, wasn't it? Pepper would be proud.

Tony shook his head, banishing the thought with a slight bang to the side of his head (perhaps not as slight as he thought, as it managed to aggravate his oncoming headache). Something about thinking about his ex-girlfriend didn't seem right, even if they were still friends. He didn't want to think about her tonight, anyway. His hand moved up to run through his hair only to stop short, hovering for a brief moment in the air. He had spent longer than he'd like to admit on his hair. He needed it to be perfect. His hand fell back to his side and he sighed, his jacket sleeve sliding back down to dust against his wrist. Everything needed to be perfect tonight. Tony would settle for nothing less.

It had taken him what felt like forever to finally get to this stage. For a while he thought it was impossible, he had very nearly written off the chance of ever being able to get together with someone like Steve Rogers. The guy was all heart and true love and completely old fashioned. He was everything Tony was no good at, and the thought did nothing to quell the flips his stomach was currently doing. There was no logical reason Steve would decide to give this a try, Tony would know. He had spent hours combing through it in his head only to find that he didn't know of a damn single equation that would result in a successful relationship for the two of them.

That wouldn't stop him from trying, though. Tony was an inventor; he didn't stop because it didn't look like something could be done. If he couldn't think of a way to make this work he'd just have to invent one himself.

Tony had never been one to take things slow. He was all fast cars and faster romance, quick fucks and forgetting names. He was everything that wouldn't work for this relationship, because if there was one thing he knew Steve was looking for it was stability and long term. Words that used to scare the crap out of Tony, but lately he thought he might actually be able to deal with them, so long as they included being with Steve.

Which was, in short, why it was so important this date went well. It was their first date, their first time doing anything aside from occasionally holding hands. It was their first step outside of Steve's comfort zone, out of the friendship zone. Tony was pretty sure he wouldn't be getting another chance if he screwed up now, and he was equally sure he couldn't' go back to the way things were. Not when he knew that, for at least a little while, Steve looked at him with a fraction of interest.

His thoughts drifted to focus in on the Captain, wondering what Steve would be wearing. He had told him to dress formally, but honestly, he wasn't sure how many suits the guy owned. Was he ready to go, like Tony? Probably not. Steve may be a wreck with girls, but he'd never seemed too tense with guys. Then again, Tony had no idea Steve _liked_ guys, so it was completely possible Steve was locked behind a door having a mental breakdown like he-

No. Not like _he_ was, because _he_ was Tony Stark and Tony Stark didn't get nervous and have panic attacks over relationships.

His throat felt scratchy and painfully uncomfortable. He knew he still had time to kill, and it wasn't like Steve would have trouble finding him in the tower; they lived on the same floor, after all, and if he was having issues he could always suck it up and ask Jarvis. That in mind, Tony pulled the door open and walked toward the kitchen, mind set on getting an exceptionally cold glass of water (and definitely not any alcohol, because Tony was not nervous and he did not need anything to soothe his nerves).

The elevator dinged loudly as he reached the shared common floor, and as he stepped out he was mildly surprised to find the area empty. Normally it was bustling with life. Thor's booming voice would make the windows shake, or Clint would say something snarky and definitely sexual to Natasha resulting in her pinning him against the wall, or Bruce would be laughing at some ridiculous sci-fi moving on t.v. In a way, he was kind of happy about the unexpected quiet; he didn't need anyone accusing him of being nervous, or worse, asking where he was going all dressed up.

It's not like he and Steve were hiding this…whatever it was. They just didn't see the reason to tell the team before they figured things out for themselves. So long as they weren't around, they couldn't accuse either Steve or Tony of hiding things from them.

Tony made his way to the kitchen, noting the shut door with a frown. His hand jingled the knob, frown growing more intense as he realized the damn thing was locked. Who the fuck locked themselves in a kitchen? If you were going to binge eat, at least have the decency to take the food and hide away in your room. It defeated the purpose of people not knowing if you locked yourself in a public place.

He banged hard on the door, irritation swelling in him. He really didn't need to deal with someone dramatically eating Ben and Jerry's tonight.

"Hey! Open the damn door!" A terrified squeak and a loud thud came from inside. Soft footsteps came towards him, and Tony stepped away from the door just in time for it to creak open.

He had to say he wasn't expecting to look up and see blue eyes.

"_Steve_?"

"T-Tony! What…what are you doing here?"

"I'm _thirsty_, Steve, and this just so happens to be _my kitchen_. I think the better question is _what are you doing here_? Shouldn't you be getting ready? Or did you change your mind? I mean, it's fine if you _did_, just let a guy know, yeah-"

"Tony!" Steve cut him off, his eyes darting behind him for a moment before he gulped and moved aside, letting the door swing open and Tony step inside. "I didn't change my mind. I just needed a distraction."

"A distraction?" Tony repeated, his eyes trailing over the bowls, pans and ingredients spread throughout the room. A large cake sat on the center island, chocolate frosting spread carefully smoothed over it.

"Were you _nervous_, Steve?" Tony asked, stepping toward the cake and glancing into one of the many bowls, dipping his finger into the contents, sniffing and tasting them. Chocolate buttercream. Tony wasn't sure if it was mere coincidence that had led to Steve to distracting himself by baking and frosting a cake with Tony's favorite kind of frosting, but honestly, so long as it happened he guessed it didn't really matter. He smiled at the blushing blonde, stepping towards him hesitantly.

"I…" The soldier trailed off before looking down at the floor, his hand scratching the back of his neck tentatively. "Yeah." He finished lamely, "Yeah, I guess I was nervous."

He looked up at Tony with a terrified kicked-puppy expression, as if seeking his approval that feeling nervous was acceptable behavior, and Tony realized just how naïve and inexperienced the man really was. It was adorable and endearing in ways Tony hadn't expected, and he found himself hugging the man without realizing it.

"Do you wanna rethink this?" He asked quietly.

"No. No, Tony, I want to try this. I'm sorry, I know I'm not exactly the most experienced you've ever been with but-"

"Steve." Tony cut off, his tone sharp, "stop. It's fine, I just want to make sure you're comfortable. So long as you are…well…you wanna maybe go early, get this show on the road?"

Steve smiled, his hands finally reaching around to reciprocate the hug, nodding his head carefully.

"Yeah, yeah, that sounds good. Let's go." Their hands found each other as they moved to leave the kitchen, Tony impressed that Steve had managed to forget about the mess he was leaving behind (or at least had managed to convince himself that it was acceptable to leave it behind for another day).

"Hey Tony?" Steve asked, casting a look behind him at Tony's trailing figure.

"Yeah?"

"…Why're you all ready half an hour early, anyway?"


	9. Pet

They made a game out of introducing each other to new things.

Steve taught (or tried to, in the very least) Tony how to spar and cook a few simple dishes. He took him for midnight walks in the park in the rain, despite Tony complaining that it would only serve to ruin his suit. He insisted they visit his old home and museums, and told Tony countless stories about how New York City had changed since the 40's (which, of course, Tony already knew, but it was still interesting to hear a first-hand account that included things like where a bakery used to be or how some big-ass HQ used to be a decent-sized patch of land where kids gathered after school for a game of baseball or kickball).

Tony brought Steve to see countless movies, both new and old, and acquainted him with modern day technology. He brought him down to the lab and did his best to explain what he was doing and why, and Steve always made sure to pay attention despite the lost look that never seemed to leave his face. He brought Steve to restaurants and showed him how the culinary world had changed, and introduced him to the great wonders of delights like s'mores and Chinese food.

There was a never ending list of things that they wanted to introduce the other to, as well as things they were waiting to be shown. The idea of things neither of them had ever experienced had never crossed their mind.

Until they were out walking and passed by a pet store, a small child's face pressed against the filthy glass as she stared at a wide variety of excited, barking dogs. They had exchanged a brief look before approaching the shop themselves, peering in at the furry creatures with wonder.

"What was your favorite pet?" Steve bit the bullet first, daring to ask the question both men had been dying to ask the other. He leaned down, balancing on the balls of his feet so he could stare at a particularly energetic pup, their paws dragging down the glass as they jumped up. Tony stiffened, eyes trailing away from the dogs to focus on his boyfriend.

"Never had one." He answered gruffly, looking back up at the dogs. He was relieved to see the kid had left, undoubtedly entranced by some new shiny part of the city, leaving him and his boyfriend in relative privacy (there were still people walking by, of course, but they were all in such a hurry Tony would be surprised if they'd even remember seeing two guys outside of the store, let alone what they had been saying). "You?"

This time Steve stiffened, rocking a little on his feet. The palm of his hand reached over, splaying over the glass window in an effort to steady him, and he laughed as one of the dogs attempted to lick at him.

"I've only ever had fish. Mom was afraid anything else would be bad with my asthma, and dad didn't think I'd be able to handle anything too big anyway." Tony bit his lip. He had forgotten about how fragile Steve had been growing up. It was hard to imagine the super soldier as anything but, well, _super_. Of course his parents wouldn't let him have a pet - even if he wasn't allergic to Fido, he probably wouldn't be able to walk him without being dragged across the sidewalk.

Getting a pet was a big responsibility. Tony knew that. It peed and shit everywhere (which was way up on the list of why he wasn't allowed to have a Scruffy of his own) and they needed to be fed and played with constantly. Buying a pet wasn't like buying a car. You couldn't just do it and forget about it, leaving it to gather dust in the garage until, months later, you realize that you _did_ buy that thing you were thinking about and you rush down and clean it off and it looks nice for a couple of days before you get distracted again.

But looking at Steve, his hand still pressed against the glass and the focus of that dog's attention, he couldn't help but grab him by the shoulder and pull him up. He ignored the blonde's shocked expression as he shifted his grip down to grab his hand, pulling him into the pet store. He could feel the man tense, and he knew Steve was about to argue about their being here.

"Steve." Tony said, keeping their hands entwined as he turned to face the taller man, "Don't. We are both semi-responsible adults. We are goddamn _superheroes_. There is no reason for us to _not_ get a pet, especially when I want one and I know you want one."

Steve stared at him, mild disapproval clear in his blue eyes, but he bit his tongue and stayed quiet. Tony waved over a young assistant, eyes scanning over her nametag quickly.

"Jenny!" He said, faux warmth and charm entering his tone, even as he saw her eyes pass over him in favor of Steve, running up and down his body appreciatively. Tony was immediately happy Steve was still too busy glaring at him with what he knew to be mock irritation, and had hence not noticed the unwanted attention the girl was giving him. "My boyfriend and me," he took a break from speaking to raise Steve's hand, still clenched tightly in Tony's. He grinned as her face went from flirty to crestfallen in record time, satisfaction creeping through his body. She looked away, and he coughed to regain her attention.

"As I was saying, my boyfriend and I are looking for a dog. You mind lending a hand?"

"Of course not, right this way," she turned away from the pair, hand limply waving, sighing they should follow her. Tony knew if Steve was actually paying attention he'd be entering lecture mode now, but at the mention of 'dog' his attention had finally left Tony in favor of the many cages and pens in the shop. His eyes fell over each dog in turn as they walked by, the worker muttering basic information about each dog; breed, gender, age, overall temperament and the like.

This time it was Tony's turn to watch Steve, waiting for a spark of interest to enter his lover's eyes. Steve's eyes traced over each dog in turn, and occasionally he'd stop to look at them closer, or to press his hand against the glass. After a short while he'd let out a slight hum and let his hand drop away, moving on.

It took quite a bit before Tony realized what his boyfriend was looking for. All of the dogs he'd shown mild interest so far had reacted in the same general way to his hand pressed against the glass; they'd either ignored him or stared, motionless. The only dog that had responded differently was the first dog they had seen, the young and energetic pup out front.

Tony stopped short, pulling his boyfriend to a halt alongside him and the confused expression the worker gave him.

"Did you find one you wanted to take out?" She asked.

"Actually, yes." He cast a quick glance at Steve, his head cocked to the side. Tony could practically see the gears turning as he tried to make out what Tony was doing, what dog Tony had seen potential in.

"Could we see the dog on display out front? The one in the bottom crate?" The girl nodded softly, pressing her way past the two men and making her way to the front of the store.

"The German Shepherd, right? I'll bring her on out." Tony nodded, realizing after that she wasn't looking back and thus couldn't see the gesture.

Before he had time to look at Steve and see if he'd made a good choice the girl was back, a squirming puppy held against her chest. Steve immediately pulled his hand away from Tony, rushing forward to examine the dog. His hands reached out carefully, stopping short of actually touching her and allowing her to sniff at him. The dog apparently smelled something she liked, as within moments she was licking and lapping at Steve's fingers, nibbling softly at them. Her tail was wagging and she started squirming harder.

Jenny laughed and pressed the dog towards Steve, moving his hands so he was cradling the dog against his chest. He turned and strode over to Tony, a wide smile on his face. He stopped a few inches from the man, staring him down until Tony tentatively reached his hand out, fingers brushing through soft brown fur. He didn't bother hiding his own soft smile, and for a moment both the men seemed to forget about the worker patiently waiting behind them.

Finally, she must have gotten tired of waiting, sneakered feet padding over to the two men.

"It seems like she like's you two." She commented, her own hand moving to scratch behind the dog's ears. "What do you think of her?"

Steve looked over at Tony, unconsciously sticking his lower lip out and widening his eyes, giving Tony the childish pout that he knew couldn't be ignored. Tony merely laughed, his hands still rubbing against fur.

"I think she'll be coming home with us," Steve's smile grew wider and he held the puppy a little closer to his chest. The dog, as if instinctively knowing what had just happened, began wagging her tail faster, desperately reaching her head up in an attempt to lick at Steve's nose.

"Oh, excellent!" The girl moved back to the counter, shifting through draws to find the paperwork to complete the sale, talking all the while. "So, what do you plan on naming her?"

The two men spared a glance at each other before simultaneously answering;

"Peggy."


	10. In Sickness And In Health

Despite Tony being a good, intelligent student, he had one rather large shortcoming.

He was out sick a lot. His mother blamed it on his passing out in random areas (the floor on occasions, his makeshift lab bench more commonly) and of course, his not sleeping enough. Something about it hurting his immune system, he wasn't really sure – he'd stop paying attention after he realized her claimed solution was something he in no way wanted to do.

And that's why dozens of years later, he still slept in weird places and for short bursts of time. His immune system had gotten stronger at some point, and he didn't really fall sick all too often (maybe once a year, and never enough where enough medicine wouldn't be enough to get him going again). So, when he woke up one morning with a slight cough, he passed it off as his yearly mild sickness, got up and went downstairs to work.

He continued to work as the days progressed, downing enough water to put an Olympic athlete to shame as he attempted to soothe his raw throat. He knew Steve had noticed from the worried glances the man sent at him, but every time the soldier tried to ask about it Tony would brush him off, insisting it was nothing more than the change of weather.

It took about a week for the full effects to hit him, and _damn_ did they hit. Steve had known something was wrong when Tony didn't come out for his morning cup of coffee – the man had been waking up relatively early lately to finish his project, and Steve knew for a fact that it wasn't done yet. Now it was almost one o'clock and Tony hadn't left the bedroom yet. He tried to squash the worry building up in his stomach as he made his way into their shared room, not bothering to knock before pushing the door open and peering inside.

Tony had squirmed over to the center of the bed, the sheets and comforters wrapped tightly around him like a cocoon. Steve could barely make out a mess of brunette hair and a hint of tan skin from a small opening near the top of the bundle, and approaching softly, he attempted to stick his hand into the small opening and feel at the skin.

It may not have been an effective way to determine health, but it still managed to tell Steve something was wrong with the man. Tony was burning up. His normally tan skin was flushed and uncomfortably warm to the touch, his nose was red and there was a significant amount of bags under his already tired looking eyes. Sighing, Steve carded his fingers through sweaty hair.

"I knew this would happen," he whispered, "when are you going to learn to take care of yourself, Tony?" Withdrawing his hand Steve made his way to the bathroom, gathering up a set of supplies he'd been stockpiling for the past week.

As much as Tony liked to say, he didn't exactly have the best poker face. He could, when he really thought about it, but Steve could typically read him like a book. It was, therefor, no surprise that Tony had been feeling sick for the past week or so. The man's cough had been getting progressively worse, sometimes momentarily waking him up when he was sleeping, and his already small appetite had been decreasing. Steve had tried asking him about it, but after being constantly waved off, he decided this was just something the genius would have to go through. Still, he was a good boyfriend, and he'd made sure to go to the store and gather up everything Tony would want when he was sick.

He smiled now as he grabbed everything out from one of the shelves; a new thermometer (because after searching through every single bathroom in the tower, he'd yet to find a single one), cherry cough syrup (because Tony was a baby and had previously voiced his refusal to take any sort of pills, and Steve had hoped that he was enough of a child to take the medicine so long as it was his favorite color) and a variety of other materials all made their way into the bedroom, spread out on the top of the dresser. He cast another quick look at his still-sleeping boyfriend before shaking his head and walking out, deciding a little extra sleep would probably serve to help.

When Tony woke up, he stared at the clock blankly. His throat hurt like a bitch and he could practically feel the sleep in his eyes. A cough bubbled its way to the surface and forced its way out before he could stop it, causing his body to spasm in pain. He peered over at the clock again, this time actually trying to make out the current time – maybe it was still early enough where he could go back to sleep?

He'd nearly jerked off the bed when he realized that it was nearly 2 in the afternoon, far later than he normally slept (and well past the normal time Steve would let him sleep to). He moved carefully, trying to drag his tired body so he could sit up on the bed, leaving the covers wrapped completely around him.

Within moments the bedroom door creaked open and Steve poked his head in. The blond smiled brightly at Tony, seemingly ignoring his grumpy disposition and the mound of blankets wrapped over his body and head, pushing the door open with his shoulder and making his way towards the bed.

He was carefully balancing a tray in one hand, using the other to steady himself as he bent over to place the tray on the bed. The scent of steaming hot chicken noodle soup assaulted Tony's nostrils, the scent strong enough so that he could smell it despite his nose being stuffy. A glass of orange juice and another of water sat alongside it, and Tony eagerly grabbed the water and downed it, desperate for relief from his painful throat.

Steve chuckled slightly before making his way toward the dresser and grabbing the container of cough medicine. His eyes scanned over the instructions quickly and his hands carefully removed the lid and the tiny attached measuring cup, pouring it the designated amount of red liquid. He moved back towards Tony, placing the tiny cup on the tray and looking down at him expectantly.

"Steve." Tony started, "I'm not a child. I'm fine, I don't need any medicine-"

"It's either this or pills, Tony, you're choice." Steve crossed his arms, looking down at the petulant man below him. His eyes didn't waver for a second, and eventually Tony let out an annoyed huff and picked the cup up, giving it a tentative sniff before shrugging his shoulders and downing it in one go.

He quickly slammed the cup down, coughing and sputtering in an attempt to get the foul taste out of his mouth. The little water he had left quickly chased down the medicine, though Tony could still taste the unpleasant syrup on his lips.

"What the hell was that supposed to be?" Tony asked, attempting to sound irritated despite his hoarse voice.

"Cherry." Steve answered, picking the cup up and walking to the bathroom to wash it out, before putting it back on top of the resealed medicine.

"Tasted like shit," Tony complained, leaning his head back and staring at the still steaming soup. His stomach did a flop at the thought of eating anything, but at least it would get the terrible taste out of his mouth once and for all. He picked up the spoon lying beside the bowl and scooped up a bit of the soup and noodles, blowing on it as well as he could before sucking it down. It burned a little going down, but tasted good and did effectively chase down the leftover taste of medicine. He continued blowing and sipping at the soup, easing it into his stomach and relishing the warmth that was spreading through his body.

When the bowl was finally empty he swallowed down the orange juice, a content smile coming over his face as he struggled to lie back down without releasing himself from his cocoon of blankets. Steve smiled, moving the tray off the bed and onto the dresser and carefully laid down beside the other, awkwardly wrapping his arms around the bundle of blankets that encased his boyfriend. He stroked along the man's back, soothing him until his coughing stopped and his breathing evened out.

"You really need to start taking better care of yourself, Tony," Steve chastised the sleeping man. As if aware Steve was talking to him, Tony grumbled slightly, shifting his weight so more of his face stuck out from the mound of covers. His lips parted and his tongue stuck out for a moment before apparently tasting some leftover medicine, causing his face to grimace and his tongue to quickly return to its hiding place. Steve bit back a laugh, desperate not to completely wake the man, wrapping his arms tighter and smoothing the covers on top of Tony's head.

The man did need to start taking better care of himself, but Steve knew deep down it would never happen. Tony was too damn prideful to admit he was capable of getting sick, and he was far too set in his ways to ever consider changing his habits in order to avoid the occasional bout of illness. Steve would just have to make sure he was around, then, and always able to take care of the other when they needed it. He smiled at the thought before joining his lover in slumber, shutting his eyes and using the soft whirl of the arc reactor and Tony's steady breathing to ease himself into sleep.

**Hey guys! I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who has read, favorited, reviewed, or added this story (or myself!) to their alerts! It's only been ten days but so far you guys have been amazing! I'm actually currently a prompt ahead, which means as long as I stay on task there shouldn't be any skipped days (originally I was worried I was going to have to skip updating on Thanksgiving), which is fantastic. I should have enough prompts and ideas to get through the rest of this month, but again, if there's anything specific you want to see please let me know!**


	11. Afghanistan

Tony still suffered nightmares about his time in Afghanistan.

Back when he was with Pepper, she had insisted he go get help. It had led to one of their biggest fights, and Tony was pretty sure it had been one of the many things to send them over the edge and cause their breakup. He didn't need help. He didn't want help. He didn't _deserve_ help. It was his fault, after all. If he had paid more attention to his own damn company, if he hadn't been such a greedy and selfish bastard, this wouldn't have happened. Terrorists wouldn't be using his weapons. He wouldn't be dependent on a damn nightlight in his chest to keep him alive.

If he hadn't needed Pepper's help way back when, he probably never would have told her what had happened to begin with. As it was, she only knew the bare essentials, little more than anyone else.

She knew more than Steve though, and something inside Tony told him that was wrong. Steve was his boyfriend, there for anything and everything, and while he knew he wasn't exactly intentionally keeping things from the guy (it's not like the conversation had ever come up, so he had never _lied_ to Steve), he wasn't so sure Steve would see it that way. Deep down he knew Steve wanted to know what kept his boyfriend up late at night, what made it so he couldn't sleep without a blue shadow covering the room. But Steve was a good guy, and he would never pry. He probably figured Tony would tell him when he was ready, and they could deal with it then.

Tony didn't want to tell him. The soldier already had enough on his plate, without Tony loading all of his shit on to it. He knew the captain suffered from PTSD as well, he knew the guy had seen things he shouldn't have had to. Steve had told Tony quite a bit about his past, mostly because it had _actually come up_. They had been about to get on a train when Steve told him about Bucky, the fear and self-loathing clear in his eyes. They'd been boarding Tony's private jet when Steve told him his own account of what happened when he went down. It's not like they'd ever been to Afghanistan or had to have major surgery. The time to spill his deepest fears and secrets had never come up.

Of course, Steve had to be patient and caring and he apparently just _waited_ for the right moment to pop up. Which ended up being completely accidental. Clint had gotten pissed at Tony and had apparently forgotten everything he knew about personal space, moving so he was entirely too close to Tony and jabbing his fingers at him as he screamed. Tony didn't really give a shit about this, Clint might be an assassin but right now he didn't look deadly, he just looked angry.

He didn't care until Clint's hands hit just the right spot, landing against the edge of the arc reactor. Tony had jerked back like the touch had burned him, his face paling and all of his breath leaving him. Memories of Afghanistan and Stane flooded his brain, and before he could think about what he was doing or recognize that Clint had stopped talking and jabbing in favor of worried staring, he had turned and attempted to bolt down the hallway, desperate to get away.

Steve had, of course, chosen that moment to recognize that Clint was yelling at Tony, and had made his own way down the hall to try and squelch the fight. Tony hadn't been looking where he was going, too focused on just getting out, and had managed to charge right into the soldier. Steve didn't even move, damn him, he just wrapped his arms around a struggling and panicked Tony, and Tony was pretty confident he must have sent a glare at Clint because he heard footsteps going the opposite way and the elevator dinged.

Tony didn't care, though. He didn't want Mr. Perfect right now; he didn't want the reminder that he was incredibly and permanently damaged and totally undeserving of anything good in his life. He struggled and pushed himself out of Steve's arms, his mind already aware that Steve hadn't even tried to force him to stay, and finished making his way through the hall, opening the door to the bedroom and slamming it shut.

For a moment he thought about locking it, but he quickly realized that while Steve would probably leave him alone, if he tried to get in and found the door locked he wouldn't think twice of kicking it open and forcing his way in. So he'd left the door unlocked and collapsed onto the bed, shoving his face into his knees and acknowledging the damp spots his pants were gathering.

He tried to keep his voice down, though he knew the room was soundproof. There was no reason to tempt fate, and it would only serve to prove how unlucky he was if today was the day everything failed him.

Tony didn't know exactly how long he had sat on the bed alone. At some point Jarvis had seen fit to dim the lights and close the curtains, leaving him in relative darkness and feeling completely alone and useless.

It seemed like the moment that thought crossed his mind Steve showed up. Tony didn't even hear the door open, he just felt the slight dip of the bed as the soldier climbed on, and he felt his weight being gently shifted as the captain moved to hold him, cradling the man against his chest. Steve didn't say anything, bless him, which was great because Tony didn't think he could answer without his voice cracking and he was a man, damn it, he didn't want Steve to know he was crying like some little girl. Instead he just stroked his back, his body slowly rocking; doing everything he could to comfort the genius.

After a while, Tony finally calmed down. His breath evened out and while he knew his face was definitely red and puffy and tear-stained, there were no new wet trails being made. He pulled his face away from his wet jeans and pressed it instead into Steve's chest, taking in as many deep breaths as he could manage.

Still, Steve didn't say anything. He didn't ask Tony to explain what had happened (with Clint or anything else, for that matter) and he didn't tease him for crying like a baby. He just held him, his hands never stopping that soothing pattern they were drawing on his back and he let Tony just sit with his head against his chest for as long as he wanted. Tony broke the silence because he felt like he had to. Not like he had to explain, he knew if he just got up and thanked Steve the captain would nod and wouldn't bring up the event again. But the words were bubbling up to the surface and Tony didn't know how long he could keep everything down and buried. He wanted, no, he _needed_ to tell somebody what had happened, he needed somebody to at least try and understand him. And Steve would, Steve had PTSD too, Steve had felt undeniable pain and had lost close friends too.

"It was in Afghanistan." Tony started. He knew Steve already knew the basics of what had happened, but something seemed wrong about starting this story anywhere else but the beginning.

"I was supposed to be giving a demonstration and leaving. We were in the jeep, all ready to go and heading back when the bomb went off. Everything just seemed to go to hell, and before I knew it I was staring at my own missile and knowing I couldn't get away fast enough." Tony swallowed what felt like a giant lump of nothing, his face still pressed into Steve's shirt, his eyes open against the fabric. Steve's hands were still rubbing, though they had paused when Tony had begun to speak.

"I didn't understand why he was doing it. Why he was hurting me, why he was torturing me. Felt like the pain would never stop, and I kept screaming and I just felt so useless. It was like I was being ripped apart, Steve, it hurt so bad, and it took forever before I finally just blacked out. By the time I woke up I was hooked up to a car battery and this guy, Yinsen, he just looked so goddamn proud, like he'd done me and the world a favor." At the mention of pain Steve's grip had increased, pulling Tony closer than he thought possible to his chest and a small sound of disapproval left his throat. Tony pushed it all to the side, needing to continue. Now that he'd started, the words seemed to come out all on their own and without any forethought from him.

"He told me what he'd done and I just…I was just so _mad_. I didn't ask for this, didn't _want _this, he could have just let me fucking die. The world would have been fine with it." He knew Steve wanted to interrupt at that, he could feel the way his chest constricted and his heart beat increased, but he kept going, not giving the blond a chance.

"And then it didn't even stop. I figured after that much pain, nothing would ever be able to compare. But it sucked being there, they beat the fuck out of me and water boarded me and did all this goddamn shit until I agreed to help them. And then I come home, I finally come home where everything should be safe, and it's not. When I first got this damn thing in my chest, it was pretty damn uncomfortable. I could feel it and hear it all the time; and I wanted nothing more than to be able to forget about it. But then when it was taken out? It sucked even more. I could feel the shrapnel moving with every single beat, and everything was just way too quiet and dark and bad and it wasn't just uncomfortable, _it hurt_."

"And it's just…it's not _fair_, Steve. I mean, I know that's fucking stupid to say, life _isn't _fair, but I didn't ask for any of this shit and now there's nothing I can do."

Tears had started to pool at Tony's eyes again and he blinked them back painfully, unwilling to let the stupid things out and allow them to leave proof of his weakness on Steve's shirt.

Steve had never felt so angry before. He'd been mad at the army when Bucky died, when they had refused to go and search for his body. He'd been mad at himself when he realized his only choice was to kill himself and bring down the stupid plane. He'd been even _madder_ at himself when he woke up all those years later and realized he had completely let down Peggy. But none of that compared to the intense anger he felt towards the world with every word Tony spoke.

Because Tony was right. It wasn't fair; he didn't deserve any of this. Steve had asked, pleaded and prayed to be a soldier. Everything that had happened came from his want. Tony had never asked for someone to save him, and as thankful as Steve was that they had, he realized that Tony had to live with the constant reminder of what he deemed to be his own personal failure.

No one else blamed the man for what his company had done. Tony hadn't known. If he had, they were all pretty sure he would have stopped it long before it had gotten to this point. But Tony? Tony blamed himself for not being more aware. Tony blamed himself for Yinsen and even though he hated Stane, Steve knew he still had nightmares about watching the guy die and knowing it was because of him. Deep down, Steve was pretty sure Tony thought that there might have been some way he could have saved both men, if he had tried harder.

His anger was useless. There was no bad guy here to vanquish; Tony had already taken care of that. There was nothing he could do to make any of this better. Tony would have to live with everything that had happened, would have to live with the constant reminder.

So Steve did the only thing he could do. He held the man a little tighter and rocked a little more. He pretended he was oblivious when the man finally broke and his tears started pouring out again, and he never shushed him when his breath started coming out in soft cries instead of gentle exhales. He held tight to Tony, and he prayed for what felt like the first time since he woke up. He prayed that the man would get better. He prayed that he'd see that this wasn't his fault, that none of this had ever been his fault. And he prayed that one day, Tony wouldn't be _angry_ that he'd been saved. One day, maybe Tony would even see that he _deserved_ it.

**Hey guys! This was requested by paisley15…hopefully it met your expectations!**


	12. One Step

The tower was quiet. Tony didn't remember it ever being so silent. Normally, the hustle and bustle of America's favorite coalition of superheroes echoed throughout the tall building, preventing anyone from having a single moment of peace.

Ordinarily he would welcome the sudden change. He would use it to get his work done. It's not that Tony worked best in the quiet; he couldn't get anything done if he didn't have his music blasting. He worked better when there were no distractions, and that's all that the Avenger's loudness was. A distraction. There was always something else that he could be doing, something he could be getting involved in, whether it be as simple as a movie marathon or plotting excessive pranks with Clint. It figures that the one day he'd want a distraction, everyone would have their own things to do, leaving him completely alone.

His eyes scanned back over the monitor, blueprints filling the screen. He'd been staring at the same screen for hours now. There was no progress to save; aside from opening up the document he'd done nothing since coming down to the lab. His mind kept flashing back to Steve, his muscles tensing as they remembered the fight that had transpired mere hours ago. Hours. How had he survived this long? If you'd asked him yesterday, he'd swear that the day Steven Rogers left his life, Tony would be gone too. There would be no leeway period. If Steve went, he went.

Of course, that was all built under the assumption that Steve's leaving would be due to death. Tony knew he was a screw up, he knew any relationship he touched inevitably turned to dust, but after so long together he'd thought Steve was different. He didn't think Steve would _let_ him ruin this. Judging by his earlier words, Tony couldn't have been more wrong.

"_You _cheated_ on me, Tony! You lied to me before, and you're lying now!"_

"_Steve! I'm telling you, I didn't do anything! _We_ didn't do anything! I was drunk Steve, that's all! You know I love you!"_

"_Don't," Steve had warned, his normally open and gorgeous eyes tainted with anger and hostility, rage to a degree Tony had never thought he'd see directed towards himself_, _"don't ever say those words, not when you don't mean them."_

"_Steve, I do mean them. You know I do. Just…just give me one more chance, that's all I'm asking."_

"_No, Tony. I should have known this would happen from the start. You were right, you were right all along. You just…you can't settle down, Tony, you'll never settle down. You'll never be happy with one person. You get bored too easily."_

"Goddamn it," Tony whispered. He ran his hands through his hair for what felt like the thousandth time today, stress building up inside of him. He felt like shit. He felt like drinking. He felt like dying.

It wasn't true. None of what Steve said had been true. He hadn't cheated, he was so goddamn certain of that. The girl had been in his bed, and that was wrong, he _knew_ that was wrong, but he also knew they hadn't done anything other than share a brief kiss before they passed out.

It didn't matter, though. What mattered was what Steve thought, and Steve had seen her leaving the bedroom when he came home. Steve had made a logical conclusion, based on Tony's track record. In a way, Tony deserved this.

That didn't make it fair, though. Not when Tony had been so into this. He'd been happy, for once. This had been the first time he drank heavily in months. He _loved _Steve. He'd never wanted to hurt him, he knew that the moment they first held hands and he had sworn he wouldn't when they'd went on their first date.

"_Steve, stop. We need to talk about this, please, just take a minute and think-"_

"_Oh, like you did last night?" Steve snapped back, hands roughly searching through dresser drawers, grabbing all of his clothes and tossing them into a duffle bag. Every comment he made, he'd turn to face Tony, as if watching his every reaction. And apparently the hurt he saw flash through Tony's eyes was never enough, because the hostility never stopped._

"_Please, just let me explain, Steve, I'm telling you I didn't-"_

"_Save it, Tony. I don't need to think about this. I'm doing what _I_ want. Or are you the only one allowed to do that around here?"_

"_Steve-"_

"_What?" Steve had finished packing by now, the bags held firmly in his grip as he stood in the doorway. One step. One step and he'd be out of the bedroom and, Tony knew, out of his life for good. There'd be no more Avengers, not like there had been. One of them would have to go if the team were to continue functions. Tony had a feeling he knew who would have more support._

_That wasn't what bothered him, though. One step and everything would come to a grinding halt. One step, and the man he loved would never be his again (because Tony knew, knew like he knew his formulas and equations, that if Steve left this tower today that was it. He was never coming home, he'd never look back to see that he'd been wrong.) and he'd be left alone, even if the rest of the Avengers stayed in the tower. One step and nothing would be the same._

"_I just need to tell you one thing, Steve." Tony finally whispered._

"_What, Tony? What could you possibly have to say to me?"_

"_I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so, so sorry."_

Tony had let him go. Steve had left. He'd probably used whatever little money he'd had left from S.H.I.E.L.D. to rent a cheap motel room (because Tony had checked and while Steve had taken his wallet, he'd left behind anything Tony had given him. Photos, cash and a credit card all littered the bed).

If he'd asked anyone back when they first started dating, they would have told him this was how it would work out. They'd have told him to stop now, before anyone got attached, because this was only going to end badly and with someone getting hurt, and they all had the feeling Steve would be the one left destroyed. Tony had agreed with them. He knew, deep down, no matter what he wanted he always managed to screw something up. It was as if he wasn't allowed to be happy.

But he hadn't expected to get so emotional invested. He hadn't expected it to last past their first fight. He hadn't expected it to last past Steve finding out he had nightmares. He hadn't expected he'd fall in love with the blond soldier. And when he finally realized that he was, he had banked on Steve being as stubborn as he was. He banked on that keeping Steve around. He never expected to find the others breaking point. He knew the door was always there, he just never thought Steve would take it.

No one had asked him about it yet. Bruce hadn't come down to the lab to pretend to do work while actually waiting for Tony to spill his guts. Clint hadn't come down to taunt him. Natasha and Pepper hadn't come down with disapproval clear on their faces, their tongues ready to lash out and attack Tony for being so stupid. Their fight hadn't been quiet. The door had been open. Tony knew at least one of them had heard, and if one of them heard it would have spread to the rest of the team in a matter of minutes. He didn't know if they were too busy finding Steve, too invested in their Captain to help Tony, or if they honestly didn't care. If they didn't see him as someone who deserved help.

It was probably the latter. Steve was the only one who ever seemed to think Tony deserved things. _You deserve to be happy_, he'd say. _You don't deserve to be alone. You didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't your fault._ He was the only person constantly on Tony's side, even when he knew the genius was completely wrong. He never strayed, he'd just sit and wait for Tony to figure it out and then he'd still be there when Tony forced himself to admit his failing.

Tony knew it was his turn to return the favor. He would stand by Steve, even if Steve didn't want him around. He'd wait. He'd always be one step behind, ready if the soldier ever did need his help.

He knew he wouldn't. He knew Steve would be able to fare just fine on his own. He had known that the moment Steve walked out. But as he fingered the black velvet box in his jacket pocket, as he clicked it open and rubbed the polished band inside, he couldn't help but hope.

Steve was wrong. Tony could be happy with one person. Tony could settle down.

At least, he could a few hours ago. Then he'd fallen one step behind.


	13. Two Steps

Steve had moved back into Brooklyn.

Not that'd he told Tony, of course. Tony hadn't seen the guy since their big fight, and that had been six months ago. Six months. It was amazing how time had still managed to pass. Tony still woke up with that sick feeling in his stomach, feeling like the fight had been just the other night. Yet, it felt like forever since he'd last seen Steve's face in person.

He hadn't called. Tony hadn't really expected him to, but deep down some hopeful part of him believed Steve would calm down and, when he did, he'd want to hear Tony's side of the story. Tony supposed he could have called too, but that had never happened. At first he didn't want to bother Steve, he wanted to give him space to calm down and cool his head. Then he realized how much time had passed, and he figured that if Steve had wanted anything to do with him he would have at least returned to the tower once or twice. Instead, it was like the guy had disappeared. He'd probably already moved on; found someone who actually deserved him.

The only reason he knew the guy was still around was because occasionally one of the team members would meet up with him. Tony had been right, he'd pretty much been disbarred from the team, but no one had moved out and they hadn't actually had a serious mission since the fight, so he'd never officially been told he needed to stay out. He practically interrogated the other Avengers whenever they came back, insisting they give him a full report on how Steve was doing, where he was, whether he was taking care of himself. At first they looked at him with a strange mixture of pity and understanding. Eventually, the understanding left and he was left with a bunch of people he used to consider borderline friends throwing small details of his ex-boyfriends current life at him.

Apparently Steve had moved back into his original apartment, the place he'd holed himself up in before Tony had officially invited him into the tower (because, of course, while everyone else had taken the invitation as implied, Steve didn't. He had assumed Tony had personally invited everyone to live with him, and considering they weren't exactly on good terms back then, he'd figured he wasn't welcome in the tower. Tony had found it endearing.). Tony knew the bare details about the place; it was tiny and cramped and essentially the epitome of everything New York City apartments were suggested to be. He was fairly certain there weren't any rats or cockroaches hiding about, but the last time he was there he was fairly certain the roof was on the brink of collapse and the elevators were permanently broke. It wasn't somewhere he had wanted Steve living back when they considered each other near enemies, and his opinion certainly hadn't changed since they had dated.

"Seriously, Stark, look," Tony looked up, shaken from his thoughts, as Clint sauntered into the kitchen. The guy took one look at Tony, sitting on a bar stool and leaning heavily on the island, and rolled his eyes. Tony knew he looked pathetic, moping about in one of the few areas that reminded him of Steve, but damn it, Clint _knew_ he didn't want to be bothered here. Of course, 'feeling the air' hadn't been something the guy had ever really cared about, and why should he start now? It didn't really surprise Tony when Clint kept walking towards him, plopping down on a bar stool and leaning his back against the island.

"I don't know what you did to get the Captain's patriotic boxers in a twist," Clint started.

"_Clint_-"

"And I don't _care_," Clint finished quickly, throwing his hands up both to sate Tony and in mock defense. "But it's pretty damn obvious you're a wreck, and I know Steve's no better. So why don't you just get your shit together and go make this right? For god's sake, Stark, suck up your stupid pride and _apologize_. It's bad enough dealing with you normally, now it's-"

"_Yes, thank you, Clint_," Tony interjected again, finally lifting himself off the counter to stare at the archer. "Now, it's not like I don't appreciate your input as to my love life, but I think this is something I'm gonna handle my own way, thank you very much."

"Your own way? So, drinking yourself to death, and then leaving the rest of us to find a place to live, not to mention deal with Steve? Yeah, this doesn't just involve you anymore, Stark. Either you make things right and get Steve back here, or you finish that damn argument so you can both move on."

Clint hadn't waited around for a response. Tony had merely blinked, mind already formulating a response (something along the lines of _that fight is definitely fucking finished_) and by the time he opened his eyes, mouth opening to retort, Clint had disappeared. Tony had spent a while wondering if he had imagined the whole thing, his eyes scanning around the kitchen in an attempt to see if the idiot was hiding, waiting to see what Tony would do.

But honestly, there wasn't anything left. Tony had imagined every scenario he could think of, from begging Steve to listen to waiting around for a mission, a place where the Captain would _have_ to see him, because Tony was self-centered and it didn't matter if he wasn't an official Avenger anymore, no one was going to be able to stop Iron Man from suiting up and fighting. Besides, it would be bad press for anyone to actually try and stop him; no one wanted to see the Avengers split up, after all.

There was no chance of Steve coming back on his own; that much was certain. The guy was as stubborn as Tony himself, and with the added benefit of being completely unmaterialistic, he would be able to sit out in his tiny-ass apartment for as long as he wanted.

Tony twirled his finger, doodling hazy designs on the slightly dusty surface of the counter. It hadn't really been touched since Steve had left. Bruce had tried, once, thinking maybe a good dinner would cheer Tony up. Tony had quickly vetoed that idea, and he was ashamed to admit he had screamed far more than necessary at the scientist. It wasn't his fault; this was Steve's place. It would be like inviting someone to move into his old bedroom. No one else belonged there, no one else had the right to try and squeeze into his spot.

Tony had gone to bed that night feeling more depressed than ever. He had tossed and turned for hours, moving from his side of the bed to Steve's, and then back again when he realized Steve's side no longer held any remnant of the man. The indentation was gone. The pillows didn't smell like him. It wasn't warm and welcoming anymore.

It didn't help that the entire night, he couldn't get Clint's words out of his head. What did the birdbrain know, anyway? How could a fight be left unfinished? Steve had walked out, that was that. That was the end.

Deep down, Tony knew that wasn't entirely true. Steve had been holding back, and Tony knew for a fact he had been too worried about losing the guy to really let go and get involved. It had been way too passive-aggressive to be considered a fight, even with the loud voices and harsh words. Maybe Clint was right. Maybe they hadn't finished their fight.

That was what led Tony to Brooklyn, six months and three days after Steve had packed his bags and walked out, never looking back. Of course, nature had to pick today to start pouring buckets, each drop somehow managing to find its way into Tony's eyes. He had taken a cab, knowing that he wasn't going to want anyone he knew seeing him by the time this was done. His stomach began clenching the moment he got out, and it didn't stop as he made his way up the stairs until he was face to face with the door.

He had thought about knocking. He really had. His hand had been all up and ready, rain soaking through his shirtsleeve and running down his arm. He had been completely ready. Then he took a breath, and his hand fell back. The process had repeated a good five times. Sometimes Tony would actually very nearly rap on the door, his knuckles _just_ brushing against the plaster before quickly being drawn back. He was starting to get strange stares from people walking by, and he was fairly certain he looked like a drowned poodle, when he finally decided he had failed. Clint had made it sound so easy; just march right in and finish what you started. Tony couldn't do that. They'd left off in a still somewhat ambiguous area, where the door was shut but not yet locked. If he walked in right now, like this, he was fairly certain he'd be pushed out and the door wouldn't just be locked, it'd be sealed with concrete and barricaded. He lowered his hand for the last time and bent his head down, his bangs plastered against his forehead, and made to turn around.

Of course, the door had to pick that exact moment to open, an oblivious super soldier walking out and nearly colliding with the genius. Tony didn't even have the presence of mind to throw his hands up to balance himself, he was far too shocked at seeing Steve for the first time in months.

So he guessed he was pretty luck Steve had heightened reflexes and evidentially didn't hate him enough to let him fall and die. The blond had quickly reached out, grabbing Tony by his arms and pulling him forward so he'd collapsed against Steve's chest instead of bouncing down the stairs and onto the sidewalk.

"_Tony_?" Steve sounded rightfully shocked. His arms lingered around the smaller man a beat too long, before his brain finally seemed to register the fact that they weren't together any more, and he pushed the man off of him.

"Heya, Cap," Tony replied, mentally kicking himself. Six months and three days, and _that_ was the first thing he said? Yeah, he was real damn smooth.

Steve didn't seem like he was in any shape to care, however. His hair was a mess, definitely not its usual just-combed-to-perfection, and Tony knew he hadn't been out in the rain long enough to make it like that. The soldier looked exhausted. Steve was physically able to go without sleep a decent amount of time, so the bags currently present under his eyes made Tony extremely worried.

His eyes were what scared him the most, though. They were completely different. They were still blue, of course, but they were haunted and broken and _sad_. It had only been six months, but looking at Steve, one could easily believe six years had transpired.

"What are you doing here, Tony?" The defenses Steve had previously been too shocked to put up suddenly were established full force as the blond crossed his arms and leaned back, keeping a fair amount of distance between them.

"I wanted to explain," Tony whispered. His hand started to reach out, contemplating grabbing onto Steve's wrist and at least attempting to make him stay and listen. Steve carefully shifted away, and Tony's hand dropped without another thought.

"It's been six months."

"Yeah, well, I figured you might want some time,"

"And you were right," Steve looked down at him now, and Tony knew he hadn't been imagining the darkness in his eyes; they were undoubtedly the eyes of a man in pain. "But, Tony, six months is a lot of time. Maybe even too much."

"_Well, it's not like you called me_!" Tony spat out. He was getting aggravated now, all of the emotion he had denied to himself during and after the fight rising to the surface. "You could have called, Steve, when you'd had enough time."

"I didn't think there was anything left to say, Tony."

"Yeah, well, there is! There fucking well _is,_ Steve. There's a hell of a lot more to say. Maybe not for you, maybe you got your fill out _six months ago_, but that's fine. Then you can just shut up and you can _listen _to me, listen like you should have done back then." Tony took a deep breath, half expecting Steve to interject the moment he fell quiet. He wasn't sure how he felt when Steve didn't, but his mind didn't really give him a chance to contemplate it before words started streaming out of his mouth.

"_I did not cheat on you_. Okay? There, I said it. I was drunk. I was lying in bed with another woman. It was wrong. I was wrong. I never should have done any of it. You're probably right to break up with me, I know, but goddamn it, Steve, I won't let you do it for _something I didn't even do_."

"Tony, I come home from a business trip and I find you in bed and a young girl in our bedroom. You expect me to believe you, what, just fell asleep with a random girl in your bed? That _nothing, _nothing at all, happened that night?"

"I'm not saying nothing happened!" Tony was yelling now, and some tiny part of his brain was begging him to stop before people started actually paying attention, before someone recognized who the feuding couple was, before "_Are the Avengers breaking up?"_ becomes the front page news story for months. "I'm saying we slept in the same bed. I'm saying that's all we did. I'm saying I _know_ it was fucking stupid of me, and you have _every right_ to be mad but-"

"But _what_, Tony? Now that you've admitted what you did was _wrong_ I should just forget about it? You honestly expect me to believe we can go back to how things were, that this won't just _keep_ happening?"

"I _honestly_ don't expect you to believe anything. I expected you'd trust me, I expected that you'd know I would never lie to you _because I love you_, damn it, and I would _never_ hurt you like that. If I didn't give enough of a shit about you to stay with you, why the fuck would I care if you found out? Why the _fuck_ would I lie about it, Steve?" Tony knew he had said too much, knew he had slipped up, but the words had just poured out before his brain had a second to analyze what he was saying. He mentally prepared for rejection, prepared for Steve to laugh in his face and tell him _he was just a fucking playboy, he didn't know what love was, he didn't love anyone but himself_.

Steve had gone quiet, staring down into brown eyes as if he could discern whether he was being truthful from that alone. Finally, he let out a pained sigh and stepped to the side, pushing his apartment door back open.

"You're soaked, Tony. Get inside and warm up. We'll…we'll figure this out later."

And Tony didn't waste a goddamn second, moving into the warm apartment that, although masked with the scent of cleaning products, reeked of Steve. They might not be okay now, but Tony knew they'd at least caught up with each other.

Because it had been six months and three days, and Steve still had a picture of the two of them hanging on the wall and Tony still felt the weight of a tiny velvet box pressed into his leg.

**Okay, honestly guys? I was expecting all of these to be complete one shots, including yesterdays. I didn't really conclude yesterday's with any ideas of how I might go about continuing it, so when people asked me to write a happy ending sequel I was sort of thrown for a loop. I've spent the entire day thinking about how best to go about it, and I actually started writing this before I began on my homework or anything else. It's not exactly a makeup, per say, but I think it leaves things off on a much happier note than yesterday?**


	14. Camping

If there was one thing Tony didn't understand, it was camping.

It just made no sense to him. His ancestors had lived in caves and tents and wilderness. Then they had built houses and _stopped_. He had to assume there was a reason they decided living in the woods wasn't all that great, a reason they had given up the quiet forest life for the hustle and bustle of a budding city.

He had never been a boy scout. There had been no wilderness training when he was little, no father and son camping trips or birthday parties spent sleeping out under the stars. It just wasn't something that was done. They had earned the luxuries they had; why on Earth would they toss them to the side in favor of sleeping on the hard, wet ground?

Steve hadn't seen things like that at all. He had absentmindedly brought up the idea of camping one day, telling Tony stories of how he used to go out with his dad until his asthma got too bad, and even then he'd sometimes tried to sneak out and go along with his friends. Steve had been shell shocked when Tony had shrugged his shoulders and said he'd never been camping, and had insisted right then that they were going to fix that.

So now Tony was carrying an overweight backup laden with food and clothes and a sleeping bag up a narrow, rocky hill, Steve blazing ahead of him. Tony didn't like to admit he was getting old, but _damn_ _it_, he could feel the sweat soaking into his shirt and his back and legs felt like jelly.

"Come on, Tony, we're almost there!" Tony squinted his eyes, barely able to make out Steve's form in the shadows, what looked to be a hand beckoning to him, though he moved farther away even as he spoke. Tony bit back a groan. This was going to make Steve happy, which meant it would be worth it. Steve did stupid shit for him, bringing him down food in his lab or going with him to boring social gatherings. If one night in the woods was what the guy wanted in return, well, Tony'd be a jerk to deny him.

Steve hadn't been kidding when he said they were almost there; the hill slowly transformed into an even plateau and the trees became a little sparser. Within ten minutes of his announcement he'd stopped, waiting patiently for the slower man to catch up.

It was a nice patch of land, Tony had to admit. It was a meadow, of sorts, and although the area looked worn and well-traveled, Tony couldn't imagine anyone coming out here. He didn't even know how _Steve_ had managed to find the place, considering he could barely find his way around the city with a GPS. He could hear rushing water close by, and the canopy of leaves above them managed to prevent too much sunlight from burning them and offered mild shelter if it suddenly started to rain (Tony had high hopes it wouldn't; he had checked the weather forecast numerous times today alone, hoping to find a good reason to avoid the adventure, and now that he was out here he really didn't want to have to deal with rain).

Steve had dropped his pack and begun setting up while Tony was still staring, and by the time he came to his senses the tarp had already been laid out and the tent poles were dumped on the ground.

Sometime later, Tony began to question everyone who had ever called him a genius.

He had agreed to set up the tent while Steve went ahead and gathered twigs and rocks for a fire. He was an engineer. He should be able to set up a store-brought tent in less than 10 minutes. It had been well over thirty, and the damned thing was nowhere near complete. Every time Tony had it just right, all of a sudden one of the poles would move just right and the whole thing would come tumbling down in a mess. And then Tony would have the wonderful job of tearing it apart and jamming it back together again.

Somewhere around the fifth time he gave up, shouting and kicking one of the protruding poles. Where the fuck did a _tent_ get off on being impossible? And this was a Target, idiot-proof tent! How had an asthmatic, weak Steve managed to do _anything_ out here?

As if sensing Tony's mind had drifted to him, the blond suddenly reemerged from the forest, his arms full of sticks, twigs and rocks. At first he seemed oblivious to Tony's obvious plight, moving over into the center of their campsite and dumping his gathering before turning back to face Tony.

Tony wasn't ashamed to admit he had most definitely pouted and grumbled at Steve's amused face, genuine laughter tumbling out from between the soldiers lips as he made his way over to the mess of a tent Tony had left behind. He separated the parts into neat rows before quickly selecting what he needed and putting them together, his hands moving naturally, as though he had done this countless times before.

As soon as he was done he flashed Tony a half-smile, his white teeth just barely showing between his lips, and then turned back towards his abandoned treasures and began forming the fire pit. Tony, meanwhile, waiting patiently for the damn tent to fall apart, and growing slightly disgruntled when it remained stable.

He thought about helping Steve build the fire pit and quickly dismissed the idea when he saw how fluidly the man was moving; Steve obviously knew what he was doing, and Tony didn't really want to be that guy who kept getting in the way. So he sat back with his head on his knees, watching the blond coax a fire and banishing the slightly impressed feeling he got. Tony might be a genius in the lab, but out here Steve had definitely got him beat; the man looked like he was in his natural element here.

Finished with the campfire, Steve stood and made his way over to Tony's abandoned bag, rifling through it and carefully laying what seemed to be a random assortment of items on the ground. Tony hadn't packed the bag, he'd merely been delegated the carrier, so he watched with mild interest to see what Steve had decided to be important enough to bring along on their little expedition.

Steve had saved two sticks from his previous pile, now joined with the bag of marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolate Steve had pulled from the bag. Unable to ignore his curiosity, Tony pushed himself up and approached the assortment of items, staring down at Steve inquisitively.

"Whatcha got there, Cap?" He asked, bending down to brush his fingers over the assortment of junk food. Steve smiled, and while Tony could sense hidden embarrassment, he couldn't help but find the look absolutely endearing.

"Well, I figured since you'd never been camping before, you've probably never had s'mores, right?"

"I've had-"

"Those one's Clint made in the microwave don't count, Tony. That was him being lazy. I mean _actual_ s'mores." Tony grinned at the Captains serious expression. While he didn't personally see the problem with making them in the microwave (it was faster and convenient!) Steve apparently believed the act was a travesty.

"Well then, I guess not, Cap."

"That's another thing we're gonna be fixing tonight, then, Stark." Steve's face had changed back into a lazy grin as he handed Tony one of the sticks and pushed against his arm, signaling he should go back near the fire. Steve gathered the rest of the materials in his arms before following, eagerness giving a slight bounce to his steps. He hadn't made s'mores since he was a kid; the smoke from the fire was too risky with his asthma, according to his parents, and he'd never really had a chance after the serum.

"Alright, so, all you have to do-"

"I think I can handle making s'mores, Steve," Tony interjected, ripping open the bag of marshmallows and selecting a large, plump one to shove onto his stick.

"You said that about the tent, too," Steve pointed out, his eyes sparkling in amusement even as he chastised Tony. Tony grumbled but lowered his head, allowing Steve to continue with his lecture.

"As I was saying, all you have to do is hold the marshmallow over the fire until it's completely golden-brown," Steve carefully placed his just out of reach of the flames, allowing them to lick at the soft treat. "Just make sure you don't hold it too far down, or it'll catch fire and be all burned."

Despite the warning Tony had wasted a good five marshmallows to the fire. Steve had tried giving him his own half-done one, and laughed when Tony had fucked that one up, too. Finally the soldier took pity on him and stepped behind him, wrapping his arms around the genius and gripping his wrist gently. He stayed there, tugging at Tony's wrist when it was time to rotate or when he'd let the marshmallow fall too low, until finally they had managed to toast a perfectly brown marshmallow.

"Perfect," Steve said, pulling Tony back and grabbing two crackers and a broken-off section of chocolate, "now we sandwich these guys together and," in another graceful motion Steve had pulled the marshmallow off the stick and captured it between the two crackers, the chocolate pressed up and already melting against it, "ta-da!"

Tony stared at it warily as he took it from Steve's outstretched hands. It didn't look like the one Clint had made in the kitchen; this one was far more gooey and the marshmallow was definitely darker. He looked up at Steve and gulped as he saw the childish eagerness lighting up his eyes; the guy was practically bouncing with impatience as he waited for Tony to bite into the treat. Sighing, Tony moved it closer and nibbled at it, his teeth grazing the graham cracker before he attempted to pull back.

"Tony! You have to _bite _it, not just pick at it!" Another sigh, but Tony complied, bringing it back up to his mouth and biting a good half of it off, wincing as the slight heat scalded his tongue. He chewed, allowing the different tastes to mingle and dance on his tongue, before swallowing the mixture down.

Damn. It was good, definitely a lot better than the one they'd made back in the tower. Apparently his face had shown his approval, because Steve lit up like a kid on Christmas and pulled the bag of marshmallows back up, readily preparing their sticks with fresh marshmallows.

Goddamnit. He'd never be able to talk the guy out of camping now (_although_, Tony thought, as he shoved the last of his s'more into his mouth_, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing, after all_).

**Hi guys! I'm sort of having some trouble thinking of good prompts…I've got a couple lined up and waiting, but I'm going to need more if I'm going to make it to 50k, so if you have any suggestions **_**please**_** tell me. Also, I do read all of your reviews, and to the reader who said that Tony didn't really get it last chapter; you're completely right! He didn't. I updated the chapter with a slight addition (nothing really significant) and I'm hoping at some point to be able to go back and revise the chapter so that their fight is really, officially solved.**


	15. One Year

There were some things time could never erase.

Time couldn't bring Peggy back, for example. It couldn't bring the 40's back, it couldn't bring Steve back to the plane. It didn't ease the pain of waking up one day and realizing everything is gone; your home, your family, your love, _everything_. He didn't wake up one day with the knowledge that _yes, I made the right choice back then_, rather, it was almost the opposite. The more time passed, the more Steve realized he was a man _out _of time. Time couldn't erase pain or ease a choice.

Steve was exceptionally surprised when Tony woke up far more clingy than normal. The brunette liked to cuddle, that much was true; he was like a cat most nights, tangled up around Steve and clawing if the man so much as nudged in the opposite direction, he typically left to be on his own for a while after they woke up. Then Steve would be responsible for either visiting him in his lab later or dealing with his needy attacks later on, when Tony would cave and come looking for him.

Today, however, Tony woke up the minute Steve had started to stir, clinging to the man like a drowning man a buoy. He had let out a discontent groan and shoved his head onto Steve's chest, as if that was enough to prevent the soldier from moving. Steve laughed, stroking his hair until the man fell back asleep, and then carefully pulled himself out of Tony's grip.

He'd thought that would be the end of it. Tony seemed content to stay in bed and the tower was decently quiet – Thor had gone to visit Jane, and Clint and Natasha were both on some mission out of the country. Bruce was still around, but he'd probably already holed himself up in his lab. Steve revealed in the silence and solitude, taking the moment to poke around Tony's elaborate coffee maker. Normally Steve just drank instant, mostly due to the fact that Tony's machine was embarrassingly difficult to use and Tony didn't want to have to ask someone to explain it to him for the fifteen time (not to mention he was fairly certain Tony would never forgive him if he accidently broke it or something). Today, however the Captain was alone and able to fiddle with the different buttons until he managed to get a dark stream of caffeinated liquid to pour out. The scent was intoxicating, and Steve was reminded all over again how much he _hated _instant coffee. If only he could remember what buttons he pressed tomorrow.

He wasn't expecting Tony to wake up for another couple of hours, so when there was the sudden sound of pounding footsteps and a set of arms encircled his neck, Steve had understandably freaked out and nearly spilt his coffee on his pants.

"You left." Tony accused, resting his chin on Steve's shoulder.

"I'm normally up before you, Tony." Tony didn't respond to this, instead letting out a tiny grunt and tightening his hold on Steve.

"You figured out how to work the coffee maker."

"Mhmm." Steve was trying, really he was, not to point out how uncharacteristic Tony was being. The arms around his neck briefly vanished before his coffee mug was grabbed from his hand and his lap was suddenly full of a content-looking genius.

"Tony!" Steve frowned as the shorter man brought the still hot mug to his lips, testing the coffee before downing a large gulp. Tony merely shot him a puppy-dog pout, widening his eyes and tilting his head. Steve groaned but gave in, accepting his coffee as a loss. Tony shifted, pressing himself further into Steve's hold, and stayed on his new perch well after he finished drinking his stolen coffee.

The weird behavior didn't stop there. Tony remained clingy for the entire day, refusing to go down to his lab and barely leaving Steve's side. The few moments the blond had alone were quickly interrupted, and Steve had learned to associate pounding feet with sudden contact; Tony seemed increasingly adapt at tracking him down, and Steve was somewhat tempted to test his abilities by going for a walk outside of the tower.

The only thing stopping him was how uncharacteristic this sort of thing was for Tony. The guy was touch deprived, sure, and he was definitely making up for lost time with Steve, but Tony was also fiercely independent. He didn't normally feel the need to track down the other man, and his touches were normally brief and soft. Today, Tony seemed like he never wanted to leave Steve's lap, like he wanted to have arms wrapped around him all the time.

Steve couldn't understand it, and he refused to go too far until he knew why Tony was so needy today. He didn't want to go for and find out Tony had flipped out and something had happened (nor did he really want to risk Tony tracking him down and trying to convince Steve to do it in public again. Steve had discovered early on Tony was completely and utterly shameless). So he'd remained at the tower, leaving when Tony seemed sated and frowning every time he was proven incorrect as the scientist reclaimed him.

Steve finally broke while he was preparing dinner. Tony had refused to break contact the entire time, keeping his arms wrapped around the Captain's waist and stomach and awkwardly trying to follow every step the taller man took around the kitchen. It was weird and _difficult_ and Steve finally had to know what had his boyfriend so riled up he couldn't stand being left alone for a few moments so Steve could finish putting everything into the oven.

"_Tony_," Steve had said, working to hide his mild anxiety.

"Yeah?"

"_What are you doing_?"

"I'm hugging you. I thought you liked it when I did that." Tony was mumbling, his cheek pressed into Steve's shirt and his grip tightening ever so slightly.

"I do, I mean…It's not…" Steve fumbled for the right words, growing distracted as Tony took to tracing patterns along the front of his shirt, his boyfriends soft breath hitting his back, "You're not normally so…clingy," Steve finished.

"Is that a bad thing?" All at once Tony's hands dropped away and he stepped back, as if Steve had burned him.

"No!" Steve's response was quick, his body turning around fluidly and stepping towards the hurt billionaire. "I just wanted to know if there was a reason. Is everything okay, Tony?"

Tony's hut expression morphed into one of pain, his hands seemingly trying to wring the air. He was quiet for a while, until Steve gave in to his urges and crossed the small distance separating them, wrapping Tony up in his arms and pressing him into his chest.

"It was a year ago," Tony finally mumbled, his hands fisting themselves in Steve's shirt in an attempt to bring the man closer. He peaked up at Steve's face and, noticing the confusion, continued.

"Stane. He, uh"

Oh. _Oh_. Steve felt like the worst boyfriend in the world. Of course, how could he forget? Stane and the arc reactor and his betrayal…of course Tony was going to be needy today, he could probably still remember the feeling, the _pain_.

There were a million things Steve wanted to say, but none of them seemed significant enough. Tony was hurt, Tony had _been_ hurt, and if he needed to be around people for the day then Steve would make sure he was never left alone.

"I'm sorry," Steve finally whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Tony's head and pulling the man closer. It wasn't enough, it would never be enough, but for right now it would have to work.

Steve knew firsthand how ineffective time was. Time didn't fix things, time didn't ease things. Tony wouldn't wake up one day without the memory of the emotional and physical pain he'd gone through, just like Steve wouldn't wake up one day without the burden of his forgotten promises.

But, hopefully, Tony would wake up and realize that if there was one thing time was good at, it was passing. And with every moment that passed _without_ Tony in pain, with every moment the two spent together and happy, hopefully he'd realize that everything was okay.

Steve didn't expect Tony to forget his scars, after all. He just wanted Tony to see past them.


	16. Piano

In the corner of Tony's workshop sat a large baby grand piano.

Steve didn't know what it was there for; he'd never seen anyone use it, although the sleek black piano never seemed to collect dust. He'd thought about asking Tony, but something about the instrument seemed to scream forbidden. Tony had never mentioned its existence or even _looked_ at the damn thing. It was like a literal elephant in the room, Steve decided.

It was also a tease. For some reason Steve wanted nothing more than to brush his fingers against the smooth ivory keys, to sit on the bench and just _play_. Which, of course, wouldn't actually end too well considering Steve had never learned to play the piano. He had played once or twice with his grandma, but he couldn't remember any of the songs aside from chopsticks – and even that was vague at best. Still, maybe if he tried he'd remember?

He never did, though. It had taken Steve forever to begin to feel comfortable and welcome in Tony's lab, and now for the most part he had no issue sitting where the genius happened to be working that day. That one space, however, he'd never been near. It was uncharted territory, forbidden in an unspoken sort of way. There was nothing else near it, no reason for Tony to work by it, and thus no reason for Steve to ever go over there.

He'd tried asking Bruce about it, and had been shrugged off in response. Either the scientist didn't know or it wasn't something he was supposed to talk about. It didn't really matter which one it was, in Steve's mind. It was a puzzle, a mystery, something he felt he _needed_ to solve and learn about.

But it was also his boyfriend's puzzle and mystery. And as much as he wanted to believe Bruce held the answer, Steve had the feeling the scientist had shrugged him off because Tony had shrugged _him _off. And if this was something Tony didn't want to talk about, if this was, for whatever reason, some big secret….well, Steve wasn't one to pry into other people's privacy. It was rude. And Tony had let him have his privacy, for the most part. He didn't interrogate him about his nightmares or force him into talking about Peggy or Bucky. Tony might be nosy, but he also knew when to drop a topic.

So Steve tried to forget, he really did. He stopped looking over at that corner of the lab, and for the most part it wound up working. The urges to brush his fingers against ivory keys stopped, his interest in remembering long-forgotten piano tunes was reigned in. Bruce never mentioned his curiosity again, something Steve was thankful for, and life went back to pre-piano discovery.

Until one day, when Steve went to step off the elevator and a soft melody found its way out of the lab and down the hall. It had taken Steve a moment to place it; the floor was far too quiet, normally his ears would be assaulted by the loud beats of Tony's obnoxious 'modern' music. Today, however, the only sound came from what _sounded_ like a piano. But that couldn't possibly be.

Steve searched his mind for anyone that may have been able to get into the lab; from what he remembered, no one else was in the tower today. Clint and Natasha had gone out for a 'mission' as she put it, although Clint's wink seemed to suggest otherwise, and Bruce had needed some alone time so he'd left last week. Thor wasn't due for a visit for a while now, and even if he _had_ shown up, Steve was reluctant to believe he'd spend him time softly playing a piano. Besides that, the warrior would have had to have found a way into Tony's lab. Tony's lab was locked up tighter than S.H.I.E.L.D. No one got in unless Tony approved.

So then…Tony was the only one who could possibly be in there. And the noise hadn't stopped, and Steve had decided that it definitely _was_ a piano. That only left one answer, as confused as it left Steve.

His feet made their way into the lab without his realizing it, and all of a sudden he heard the faint mechanical whirl of the automatic doors opening. Sure enough, Tony was seated at the forbidden corner of the lab, his work-worn fingers fluidly moving across the keys. His eyes were closed; whatever piece this was, Tony had obviously played it enough to know it by memory. Knowing how easily things came to the genius, that didn't completely surprise Steve.

Tony's normal habit of listening to irritatingly loud music must have taken its toll on the man's eardrums, as he didn't seem to notice Steve had entered the lab. He kept playing, leaning slightly hunched over the piano and letting his fingers move in a natural pattern. Steve made his way over to stand behind the man, trying to be as quiet as possible.

The melody sounded familiar, but Steve couldn't quite place it. It was beautiful, though, and he found himself wanting Tony to continue for as long as possible. So, he fought off his urge to take a seat next to the brunette, forcing himself to remain standing behind the man.

It seemed like the song ended far too soon, Tony's fingers moving slower and slower until eventually they came to rest on the last few keys he pressed. Steve stared, waiting and hoping Tony would start up again.

"You can sit down, you know." The deep voice shocked Steve and made him jump in surprise. Damn it, he'd been so sure he'd managed to go undetected. He frowned as he recovered his wits, and moved to sit down on the bench beside Tony, making sure to leave an ample amount of space between the two.

He'd done it. He'd invaded Tony's privacy. This was one of the few things the genius seemed to want for himself, one of things that he hadn't brought up to _anyone_ and Steve couldn't just let it stand. He had to sneak in and then, even then, he _didn't leave_ like he should have.

Steve's expression must have displayed his childish guilt, because Tony took pity on him. The billionaire slid over, pressing their legs together in an attempt to convince him everything was okay.

"My dad taught me." Tony started, answering the questions he knew Steve was far too afraid to ask. "Well, not really _taught _me. He wanted me to learn, so he hired someone to teach me."

"Why?" Steve finally spoke up, twitching his leg a little to press harder against the other man's.

"Thought it'd help me when it came to building. I'd have better control and command of my fingers, or some shit. I hated it. Hated my teacher, hated playing, hated having to memorize the stupid songs."

Tony's tone had grown irritated and he pounded his fingers against the keys in agitation, causing a painfully loud sound to echo through the room. Steve paused, not quite sure what to say. He'd found out why Tony knew how to play, sure, but that still didn't answer the question of why the piano was _here_ in the first place. If Tony hated it so much, why would he keep it in a _place_ where he did work he _enjoyed_? Why would he have brought a piano in the first place? Tony seemed like the kind of guy who'd have hung up the broken remains of a piano so everyone knew how much he hated them, not the kind who'd keep an object he despised in his own home.

"He was right, though." Tony paused and looked back over at Steve, catching his reformed confusion. "About it helping me." He clarified.

"I thought it wouldn't, at first, but now? I guess he wasn't so off on everything. I still hate it, but sometimes it's nice to just go on autopilot and let my fingers _work_ without having a blueprint or anything."

Tony kept his focus trained on Steve, relieved when his blue eyes began to clear and show comprehension.

"And…" Tony started, his voice falling as he questioned the appropriateness of what he was about to say.

"And what?"

"This is so fucking stupid but…sometimes, it makes me feel…_closer_, you know? It's like this was his way of being _there_, and his was of-"

"Caring?" Steve finished, moving his hand to clasp over Tony's.

"…Yeah. I guess."

"That's not stupid, Tony."

Tony merely huffed and looked away, but he didn't try and remove his hand from Steve's grip. Rather, he turned his palm up and gently wove their fingers together, marveling at how well they fit together.

"You play?" Tony finally asked, breaking the too-long silence.

"I…well, no, I mean-"

"So you've been looking over here with such longing for what, then? Shits and giggles?"

Steve froze, embarrassment creeping in. He hadn't realized he'd been _that_ obvious-

"Hey," Tony admonished, "it's okay, you know? I'm not mad, Steve." The brunette smiled at the still red-faced blond and moved so his hand was overtop Steve's, pressing the soldier's fingers into the keys.

"Let me teach you."


	17. Drawing

It was no secret Captain Steve Rodgers loved art.

He like drawing and painting and sculpting (although the latter he'd only ever done with fondant while baking). He enjoyed doing things and creating things just like Tony did, only he didn't like working with machines and technology (which was a damn good thing, too, considering technology had changed a lot since the 40's). He kept a sketchbook in the nightstand beside his bed as well as down in Tony's lab, and a small corner of their bedroom held an easel and some paint.

He drew wherever he was. If he was in a diner he'd doodle on napkins or paper placemats. If they were in the park he'd draw designs in the dirt with his sneakers and a stick. He dragged his fingers against the cloth of the couch in their bedroom, and he formed shapes with pancake batter when he cooked breakfast in the morning.

He wasn't even picky about _what _he drew. Sometimes flowers or the sky, or a dog or cat. Sometimes he'd draw the Brooklyn he remembered, more commonly he'd draw the city he knew now. He'd both drawn and painted all the Avengers at least once, some alone and some in a group (it had seemed wrong to draw Clint and Natasha alone when they were so often alone in real life, so he'd made sure to always put them together).

All the Avengers, that is, except for one. Tony Stark, his boyfriend, still had not managed to find his way into Steve's sketchbook or onto a canvas.

Steve was ashamed of it. He had tried countless times to draw the genius, but every attempt had been scrapped after a few light strokes. He had to devote a _separate book_ to drawings of the genius, and he _still_ hadn't managed to complete a page. He couldn't seem to do the man justice. Either his hair wasn't fluffy enough or his eyes didn't express enough, or his skin didn't look _just_ rough enough. Steve could probably fill a trashcan with all his failed attempts at drawing the man.

It was after another failed attempt he made a decision; he was going to draw Tony Stark if it was the last thing he did. He'd keep drawing until he filled up Tony's book, he'd fill up _both_ his other books, and then he'd go out and buy more if he had to. One way or another, Steve would complete a drawing of his boyfriend.

Making this choice was obviously a lot easier than completing it. Tony had postponed drawing for a few days, nerves forcing him to abandon his pencils every time he tried to pick them up. His sketchbooks remained abandoned, as Steve refused to draw anything else until he had successfully completed his newfound 'mission'.

When he finally did find the courage to pick up his book, he was met with more difficulty than before. It was as if God had discovered Steve's plans and set about stopping them himself, throwing every hurtle he could think of in the soldiers way. His pencil tips kept breaking, no matter how often he sharpened them. His hand would scrape against the page and smudge his work, frustrating him and forcing him to restart (if he was doing this he was doing it _perfectly_, damn it!). He'd made one eye too large, and when he tried to erase it the page would tear. He still couldn't get Tony to look _quite_ right, something about the drawing seemed…off. Like it was of another person, a Tony Stark lookalike.

Steve was certain he hadn't had this much trouble drawing everyone else. It wasn't as if he didn't _know_ Tony well enough – he had managed to draw Peggy, and he hadn't seen her in years, and he drew Thor and Loki despite _barely_ knowing them. No, knowing Tony definitely wasn't the problem, so what was blocking him from drawing? Frustrated, Steve barely recognized the sound of cracking wood in time to stop himself from snapping his pencil in half. He peeked up, nervous, to see if his frustration had been caught.

Unfortunately for Steve, it had. He'd taken to trying to draw Tony in his lab, hoping that being so close to the man would allow him a good enough reference to complete his task (so far, it didn't seem to help any more than being away from Tony). The genius had stopped fiddling with the armor he was working on, raising an eyebrow as he stared at the Captain.

"Damn, what's got your panties in a twist, Cap?" Tony smirked, setting the armor down and turning towards Steve, crossing his arms.

"_Nothing_, Tony." Steve spat out, dropping his eyes back to his paper and cursing under his breath. He might have stopped the pencil from breaking, but he'd also managed to drag the tip across the page, ruining his current piece. He angrily flipped the page, ignoring the slight tearing sound. The drawing was already ruined anyway, what did it matter if it was a little torn, now, too?

"Really?" Tony still had that damn _knowing_ smirk on his face, and it pissed Steve off every time he peeked up. Maybe the reason he couldn't draw Tony wasn't due to God hating him. Maybe God just didn't want Steve creating undeniable proof Tony existed. The genius had taken his silence as a message to stand up, leisurely walking behind Steve and peering over his shoulder.

"You're frustrated at a blank page?" Tony asked, curious. He had seen Steve draw countless times, sure, but he'd never seen the guy get _mad_ while doing it. Actually, it was normally the opposite. Steve tended to draw when he was frustrated, and he normally visibly relaxed by the time he'd finished. It was weird, sure, but Tony figured it was no worse than he was; he just preferred inventing, that's all.

"_Yes,_ Tony." Steve tensed again, holding the pad a little closer to his chest to prevent Tony from potentially seeing his numerous failed attempts. "I'm mad at a blank page, because it _isn't supposed to be blank!_" This time the pencil snapped, the bottom half still tight in Steve's grip while the top dragged down an already-ruined page before clattering to the floor.

"What's it supposed to be?" Tony shifted, reaching his arms over Steve's shoulder in an attempt to grab at the sketchbook. He frowned when Steve fought him off, the soldier leaning forward and nearly causing Tony to topple over.

"Aw, come on, Cap. You can show me! Maybe it'll help?" Tony kept reaching, his hands grabbing and clawing at air as Steve continued to lean forward, letting the other half of the pencil drop to the floor in favor of gripping the book tighter and pressing it closer to his chest.

"I don't think you'd be of much help here, Tony, no offense-"

"Well we'll never know with _that _attitude, will we?" Tony said, jokingly. He twisted his body around, pulling his arms back before jerkily forcing his way onto Steve's lap, catching the soldier by surprise. Steve had loosened his grip in his shock, allowing Tony to pull the book free and start flipping through it.

"Are these…are these all _me_, Steve?"

Steve gulped. This was what he'd been afraid of. It was embarrassing enough to find a notebook full of drawings of yourself, but to find a notebook full of _failed_ drawings? Tony had seen Steve draw the other Avengers, he figured Tony had probably expected Steve had already drawn one of him, but still. Now Tony had proof that not only wasSteve _obsessed_ with drawing him, he was a failure at it. He couldn't manage to draw his own boyfriend, he was _pathetic_.

Rather than answer, Steve just nodded his head. His hand reached up in a vain attempt to snatch the book back but fell to the side of the chair when Tony nonchalantly pushed it away, continuing to flip through the pages until he reached the last remaining blank page.

"How come you haven't finished any of them?"

"They – They just won't come out right. I can't get them to look like you. I don't know, Tony, I've never had such trouble drawing someone before. You're impossible to trap on paper."

Tony laughed, handing the book back to Steve and gently pushing himself off of the soldier's lap.

"You know what I think your problem is? All these pictures, they're all either from the shoulders up or I'm wearing a shirt."

"You think my problem is I'm not drawing you _naked_, Tony?" Tony laughed again.

"No, but that could be it too, I guess. I think your problem is you're not drawing _all_ of me. You're leaving something out, Steve." Tony jabbed at his chest, his fingers banging against the blue shadow peeking out from his shirt.

"I – you…in all your pictures, you never seem to want people to see that. I figured you wouldn't want me-"

"See! There's your problem, Steve." Taking note of Steve's confused expression, Tony continued. "When I'm inventing, I'm doing it for _myself_. That's not to say I don't take other peoples thoughts into account, I just treat as what they are: other people's shitty ideas. You gotta draw what _you_ want to draw, Steve, not what you think I'd like. And this," Tony paused, waving at his chest, "_this_ is a part of me, whether I like it or not."

Lecture finished, Tony looked down at Steve for a brief moment before turning away, settling back at his lab bench and picking up his unfinished armor.

"Now get to drawing, Cap. You've only got one page left."

Steve smiled, pausing to look at Tony before reaching onto the floor and grabbing the top half of the pencil and examining the tip. It had remained unbroken in the fall, so Steve shrugged his shoulders and lifted his book up, eagerly putting pencil to paper.

This time, he would draw the Tony Stark he saw, imperfections and all.

**Hey again guys! So, I'm trying to get a little ahead in my prompts. I'm going home for Thanksgiving break Tuesday night, and I'm not sure how much writing I'll be able to get done once I have my family around. I've got two days stockpiled, and I'm trying for 4 (but **_**hopefully**_** I'll manage five). For that reason, I'm really hoping you guys can give me more ideas and suggestions! It actually inspires me a lot more when I'm writing something someone asked, which hopefully will allow me to get a few days done ahead of time. **

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, requested, favorited or added this story to their story alert! **


	18. Ikea (AKA Team Building Exercise)

There wasn't a goddamn reason in the world this should be so difficult. Tony was a genius engineer, for God's sake, this should be a _cakewalk_. Looking down at the assortment of pieces spread over the living room floor, however, it was anything but.

It was all Fury's fault. It was his stupid idea, after all; he'd insisted the team needed to 'bond' and 'practice some team building exercises' and of course that had rubbed off on _Steve_ and once their _captain_ _and boss_ agreed it didn't really matter what anyone else said; they were doing it. Which is how they ended up sitting down on a Friday night with a box containing what was _supposed_ to end up being a table and chairs, but so far had proven only to be a mess of parts that didn't seem to fit together in any logical order. Goddamn Swedes.

They'd at least originally started together, but looking around the room, Tony was dismayed to see he'd somehow managed to be one of the last Avengers standing. Bruce had been kicked out a while ago when his eyes started flickering green in irritation, and Natasha had decided this was a waste of time and had thus left a long time ago. Clint was still there, but he had clearly given up, lying against the floor with his head resting on a chair cushion. Maybe they could just ditch the idea and tell Fury it was some Japanese set, and they were supposed to just set the table and cushions on the floor and call it a day.

Taking a look over at Steve, Tony immediately knew that wasn't an option. The soldier was hunched over the instructions, fingers tracing over the words as he tried to figure out not only what their next step was, but if they'd somehow managed to screw up the previous steps. His blond hair was completely messed up from his habit of running his hands through it in frustration, and his eyes were scrunched up as he glared at the page. He looked as if he had some sort of personal vendetta with the manual, which was hilarious because if _anyone_ should be pissed right now it should be _Tony_. Tony, who was the one Steve _gave _these directions to, Tony who had to figure out how the hell to fit Slot A with Tab B when the openings weren't anywhere close to the same.

"_God damn it!_" Tony spat out as one of the plastic legs snapped, tiny splinters of plastic hitting the carpet. He tossed the two larger sections to the floor, irritation seeping through him. Who the fuck made furniture that _didn't fit together_?

"What?" Steve mumbled, eyes flickering up for a brief second before falling back down onto the paper. He quickly figured something must be wrong, however, and allowed his eyes a second look, during which he saw the damage done to the parts.

"_Tony_," He admonished, "what did you _do_?"

"What did _I_ do? I didn't do anything! Why don't you ask fucking _Ikea_ what _Ikea_ did? Or, rather, what they didn't do! These instructions make no sense, and these parts don't fit together! This is fucking stupid!"

"The parts have to fit, Tony. Why would they sell something that _doesn't fit_?"

"Because they want to torture us! Because it's Fury, and Fury _hates _me. This is probably his way of punishing me or something."

In truth, Tony fully believed that. Fury had been the one to drop off the stupid ass deceiving box, and it wouldn't surprise the genius _at all_ if Fury had tampered with it before. He'd probably taken pieces from every table and chair set he could find and just shoved them all together. He was probably _filming_ this and laughing his goddamn ass off, his one good eye watering up to the point where he couldn't see a damn thing but he could still _hear_ and that was good enough. He could _hear_ Tony struggling and getting pissed and Steve sitting there trying to keep calm and it was probably the highlight of the sick bastards' day.

Was this what Tony got for wanting to join the Avengers? This was some sort of punishment for wanting to _help _people? He didn't remember this much stress _before_ he was Iron Man; shouldn't he have been punished back then? Not now, not when he was trying to make _amends_ for God's sake.

Tony collapsed against the floor, following Clint's lead and grabbing a cushion to brace his head against. He winced as his back dug into a few loose screws but didn't attempt to move. This stupid furniture set had done enough to him, he'd be damned if it started dictating where he could or could not lie down _in his own home_.

"I give, Fury!" Tony yelled at the ceiling, reaching his hands up in a sign of submission before letting them drop onto his face, "You win this round! You have successfully come up with something that not even I could build."

"Tony, stop being so melodramatic," Steve hissed, fingers crumpling the directions in agitation as he looked from the diagrams to the parts. Then again, maybe Tony was right. Maybe this was a stupid idea. The blond sighed, setting the directions aside and carding his fingers through his messy hair for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Part of him wanted to fall back against the floor like the remaining two Avengers, but as Captain he forced himself to remain sitting. Some deep part of him refused to believe Fury would have set them up for failure like this; maybe if Tony had been alone, but not when the rest of the Avengers were supposed to be helping! How was failing to build a table and chairs supposed to build team spirit?

"I'm not being 'melodramatic' Steve, I'm being _honest_. Maybe _then_ Fury will take pity on us and stop this goddamn madness!" Tony's voice raised in volume as he spoke, until finally his last few words were screamed throughout the tower. If there was a camera in here, there was no way Fury missed what he had said. Even if he was currently laughing his good eye out.

"There's gotta be a way to do this, Tony. Fury might set _you_ up like this, but I doubt he'd do it to all of us. He really does have the team's best interest at heart, whether you like to believe it or not."

"I choose not." Tony replied, leaning over until his fingers could brush against Steve's leg. He tugged his body along the carpet until he could grasp Steve's wrist, tugging the soldier down. He was insistent, even as the blond looked down at him with confusion, and smiled when the man finally sighed and caved, maneuvering his body until he was lying beside Tony.

"Maybe a break will help?" Steve mused; wrapping his arms around the brunette and feeling his tired eyes start to drift shut. Tony grunted in approval, pressing his back into Steve's chest and quickly falling asleep.

The two woke up to the strong smell of coffee, sighing as they attempted to stretch their bodies out without losing contact. Tony dragged his body up, pulling Steve along with him, and looked in the direction of the kitchen.

He then promptly blinked repeatedly and began scratching at his eyes, because there was _no way_ his brain was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

The table was positioned between the kitchen and the living room, fully set up and apparently functional. The plastic black legs were interrupted by fragments of black duct tape, but other than that the set seemed to be built perfectly.

Of course, what shocked him more than someone apparently mastering the demon table was _who_ it appeared to have chosen to submit to. Because there was no way, no _God damned way_, Tony had been beat out by _Agent Coulson_.

Sitting at the table, the agent didn't even seem aware of how _pissed_ Tony was, sipping his coffee and skimming the paper.

"Morning," he said, and Tony could have sworn he saw a faint smirk on the mans face, though it was quickly extinguished, "take a seat. Want some coffee?"


	19. Panty Raid

Tony was in trouble. Or, at least, he would be, when Steve finally came home. There was no way he could _not_ be, after what Tony had done, and there was no way Tony could (or _would, _as the case may be) blame anyone else.

He stared at the still open dresser drawer, eyes flicking in a vain attempt to draw up memories of what it had looked like when he'd first opened it. Of course, he couldn't remember. He was a genius, for crying out loud, but he couldn't draw up the memory of how the contents of the drawer were positioned; something he'd seen less than an _hour_ ago.

And he knew Steve would remember. Steve had a knack for remembering these sorts of things, it came from his army days. Everything had a place, and everything _stayed_ in that place. Tony had always thought the tower was actually pretty neat (more thanks to his robots than to him, but still! He had _built_ the robots, so in a roundabout way _he_ kept the tower in its clean state, despite his habit of being a total mess) but the moment Steve was given free reign he saw just how wrong he was.

Steve cleaned _everything_. It wasn't so much that he was OCD as he just _liked_ doing it. He didn't like leaving messes, he liked knowing where things were when he needed them (a stark contrast to Tony, who had lost countless wrenches and screws to the depths of his lab) and he found cleaning to be relaxing.

So Steve would know. Steve would remember _exactly_ how his draw was organized, and he would know that someone had rifled through it, and that would lead to him wondering why and couple that with the fact that it was his draw _in Tony's room_…well, it wouldn't take very long for the captain to reach the conclusion that _Tony_ had gone through his stuff.

Tony groaned. He hadn't meant for this to happen! It was just….Christmas was coming, and he wanted to get Steve something. Well, a lot of somethings, to be honest, because he wanted Steve to know just how important he was to Tony and the only way Tony could think to express that was giving the guy everything and then some on those few holidays when Steve would be forced to accept gifts.

And all of that had led to Tony going through Steve's closet and draws, because God only knows the man was in dire need of a wardrobe update. Most of his current clothes were outdated, and while Tony had to admit the man didn't look bad in them, he found the man ten times hotter in modern clothes. Unfortunately, most of the 'modern' clothes he owned were provided by S.H.I.E.L.D, which meant that even if they _looked_ nice, they felt terrible. Tony hated touching them, hated feeling their material across his skin when he pressed himself against Steve, hated the mere _scent_ they carried with them. He couldn't imagine how Steve must feel about them; they were probably scratchy and terribly uncomfortable, so really it was no surprise Steve preferred his outdated clothing choices.

Tony had fixed that, though. He'd managed to practically buy Steve an entire wardrobe of comfortable clothes that would _definitely_ suit the captain.

Of course, that had led to Tony's needing to buy _other _things. If Steve's outer clothing was this uncomfortable, the genius could only imagine what his _other_ stuff was like. What good were comfy shirts and jeans if they were just pressing poor quality material against you?

So Tony had taken it upon himself to go through Steve's underwear drawer. He'd waited until he knew the captain would be out for the day before setting himself to the 'grueling' task, removing the drawer and emptying it out onto their bed.

He probably should have taken a closer look at how it was organized, but the excitement from the task at hand had sort of overtaken him.

And really, it had all been for nothing. For someone who wore uncomfortable clothing, Steve certainly didn't seem to spare any thoughts when it came to getting nice underwear. Tony was relieved to find he was a boxer's man, the silk material felt smooth and cold.

He had to say, he hadn't been sure of what he'd find. He and Steve hadn't slept together yet (this patience thing was _killing_ Tony, in more ways than one. This whole thing could have been avoided if they weren't going at a damn _snail's_ pace) so he'd had very little to base his projections on. He'd mostly been expecting a drawer full of tighty whities. Something about the plain white material just seemed so Steve.

Silky boxers hadn't been anywhere near the top of his list, but they were a nice surprise. Save for the fact that this meant Tony didn't get to kiss a thoroughly embarrassed Steve when he opened up underwear on Christmas.

The thought was actually disappointing, and Tony couldn't help but frown as he poked through the mess of underwear splayed on the bed. His hands shifted around, and he let the material slide through his fingers. He made a vain attempt at folding some of them, thinking that in the very least he could get them back to looking decent. After folding three pair he promptly decided to screw it. He didn't even fold his _own _underwear. Besides, if he just threw them back in the drawer he could tell Steve he had slammed against the dresser and the drawer had popped out, throwing Steve's possessions on the ground. Suddenly Tony would be the kind, caring boyfriend who put all of Steve's stuff back for him rather than leave it for him to deal with when he got back. Steve would buy that, maybe, but he definitely wouldn't believe _anything_ if Tony took the time to fold things up. It was just too uncharacteristic.

So Tony settled on grabbing small piles and tossing them into the drawer, patting them down with the palm of his hand in an attempt to get the disorganized heap to flatten enough so that Tony could shut the drawer.

He froze when his fingers brushed against a pair of colorful boxers. These ones were far different from the usual he had seen so far – most of Steve's seemed to be either a sleek black or dark blue (or, as Tony had found out happily, a very nice shade of red). This one, however, was most certainly multicolor –Tony easily placed _three_ colors on the fabric.

Oh God, there was no way. This was too good to be true. There was no way _Steve Rodgers_, _Captain_ Steve Rodgers, _Captain Goddamn America_ owned a pair of silky patriotic boxers.

And yet, that was exactly what Tony fished out from the pile. A pair of red and white stripped boxers, with a blue waistband littered with tiny white stars. Dear God. Tony held them tight, running his fingers along the waistband. His smile grew as he flexed the material, finding it to be somewhat lax. Steve didn't just _own_ star spangled banner underwear, he fuckingwore them enough to _wear the elastic out_.

Tony kept smiling as he dropped the boxers on the top of the dresser and continued to pat down the remaining silky heap. Eventually he pressed the fabric tight enough to just barely shut the drawer (he somewhat feared Steve's reaction when he went to open the drawer, because he was fairly certain it was stuck for all of eternity). His focus went back to the boxers as the genius wondered what he should do with his newfound knowledge. It was too good to waste; Tony certainly couldn't pass up making good use of this information. It was like a Christmas present _for him_.

With that thought in mind, Tony's grin turned positively lecherous. He gripped the boxers a little tighter as he turned back toward the bed, placing them down on the slightly rumpled sheets. This time, he made sure to fold them, taking care to pat them down and smooth out any wrinkles. He walked over to his nightstand, fishing around in the drawer until he found a pen and sticky note and quickly scrawled out a message, leaving the bright pink paper on top of the clothing before heading back down to his lap, eagerly awaiting Steve's return home.

_Can't wait to see you tonight ;)_


	20. Proposal

It took a lot to get Tony Stark nervous.

He didn't shake when faced with dying; he'd been threatened by it too many times. He didn't get flustered giving big speeches; he was far too confident and cocky for that. In fact, Tony would even go so far as to say he was unshakeable.

Except for today. Today, Tony was nervous. He was a bundle of nerves and excitement and he honestly wouldn't be surprised if someone cut him open and found living butterflies in his stomach. Although it might take them some time to _find_ his stomach, because it felt like it had migrated and taken up residence someone within his throat, which was an incredibly odd if not slightly painful feeling.

It was all completely foreign to him. Growing up, he'd never seen his father nervous. The man seemed to have some sort of confidence gland in his brain that just _kept_ firing, and Tony liked to believe that new evolutionary ability had been passed down to him. For a while, it certainly seemed like that was the case; he hadn't gotten nervous when he was a kid and had to go live by himself at a stupid private school. He hadn't gotten nervous when he had to take up his father's company. He was a Stark, and Stark's remained calm and confident no matter what.

Unless you factor in one Steven Rodgers, because apparently that man was all it took to bring the hypothetical gland to a stuttering halt. The one time Tony had found any trace of nervousness on his father's face was during a meeting discussing the search for the then-lost captain. Even then, it had been a mere flicker, a slight falter in an otherwise steady flame.

Tony had taken that defect one step further; anything to do with the captain seemed to just shut his brain down. Mere touches made him forgetful; kissing wiped all worries and equations from his mind.

And now, this? This was completely erasing everything and anything Tony Stark could ever hope to think about. He could barely think, he couldn't move, his tongue felt like a heavy lead weight in his too-dry mouth. He was pretty sure he'd figured out _why_ guys always got down on one knee to do this sort of thing. He was pretty sure if he'd been standing he would have fallen over with the slightest breeze, and at least now if he _did_ fall it'd be a short drop to the ground.

This was the moment he'd been waiting for since he first started dating the soldier. Tony had never been a commitment sort of guy, but that had changed the moment Steve had agreed. Steve was entirely too perfect, way too good for someone like Tony to manage to grab, and there was no way Tony was ever letting him go. He didn't know what he'd do if Steve ever left him, but he was certain that'd be it for his dating life. There was no bouncing back from breaking up with him, no chance of moving on. Steve was a permanent fixture in Tony's relatively solitary life.

They'd been dating for two and a half years now, and Tony had never felt so completely _loved_. Everything Steve did, he managed to pour every bit of feeling into. Every kiss, every touch, every _look_ just screamed his feelings. Steve didn't leave Tony with any doubt; he made sure his feelings were very clear to the genius. Some small part of Tony believed that Steve somehow had managed to fall just as much in love with him as Tony loved Steve, although he knew that was impossible. Still, it had led to all of this; a big dinner on top of Stark Towers, romantic but still leaving them alone so Tony could work up the courage to ask the question he'd been dying to ask for two and a half years now.

In retrospect, maybe Tony hadn't taken as much time to think about this as he should have. Planning the date, buying the ring, inviting Steve up, it had all come naturally to him. He'd thought a lot about it, of course, and put a great deal of effort into ensuring that everything went off perfectly, but still. His future thoughts had all revolved around Steve saying _yes._ He hadn't ever taken a moment to consider the alternative; that Steve would refuse him.

Because, honestly, it was more than a little silly for Tony to believe he could have Steve like this. He already knew the captain was out of his league; it was more than possible the guy was just killing time or trying to get good press for the Avengers; 'look how well we're doing, world, we're getting along so great we've even started dating! And here you thought Iron Man wouldn't be able to handle being a part of the team, look, see, I made a good choice allowing him to join!'

And now that these thoughts were crossing Tony's mind, he didn't quite know what to do with them. What if this was all just a joke, a fun game? What if Steve was just a really good actor?

Or, what if he did mean all of those touches and kisses and loaded promises, but he'd never thought of a future like this? Steve was from the 40's, for God's sake! It was major that he was even willing to _think_ about a guy romantically, and a miracle that he would agree to go out with Tony despite everything he was raised on telling him to punch the brunette and walk away. What if marriage was way too big a step?

And suddenly his tongue wasn't so cold, it felt like it was on fire and melting off and it had somehow managed to complete stick to the roof of his mouth. He looked at Steve's shell-shocked face, the blonde's blue eyes impossibly wide and glossy and Tony wanted nothing more than to just get up, shove the ring back in his pocket and run down to his bedroom. He'd lock the door and hideaway and pretend none of this happened until eventually Steve either forgot or took pity on him and _pretended _to forget and then everything would go back to the way it was before (except Tony would have a ring in his pocket and Steve would always have this knowing, judgmental look in his eyes and okay so maybe nothing would go back to the way it was).

His traitorous legs wouldn't obey him, though. It was as though he'd mistakenly knelt in drying concrete and the material had suddenly set, trapping his leg and rendering him immobile. Every time he tried to move he felt an impossible weight overcome him, like someone was pushing down on his shoulders and forcing him to keep down on one knee.

The only thing that did appear to be functioning properly was his blood, and even that was debatable. His cheeks felt impossibly hot and his collar was way too tight. He could clearly hear the arc reactor working overtime, trying to keep up with his frantically pulsing blood, and he could feel the metal heating up as it tried to maintain stability. His fingers fumbled, brushing along the edge of the velvet box as his mind thought briefly of moving to adjust his shirt and maybe wipe away some of the nervous sweat that was building up. Of course, his fingers refused to leave their position on that stupid tiny box, and all Tony could do was stare terrified at the captain, pleading him to answer.

Just answer. Yes or no, it didn't really matter at this point. Well, it mattered, but honestly Tony just needed him to say one of them, because he was positive those would be the words that caused the concrete to change state and free his leg and allow him to stand and hide away like his instincts so desperately wanted him to do.

"Tony," Steve's voice came out, soft and a little too high pitched, but Tony didn't care because _this was it_. This was where he found out where he stood, this was the moment that decided the rest of his future. His fingers somehow managed to tighter on the box; raising it up just a little higher in a silent plea to _just please say yes_. He ground his leg further into the roof, as though this way if Steve said no he'd be able to just sink through the roof and disappear.

The waiting was painful, far more painful than Tony had ever dreamed it to be, and he trained his eyes first on Steve's throat, watching as he gulped before trailing his focus back up to the blonde's face. Steve's lips were still slightly parted, and Tony could see his tongue just barely moving, as though he couldn't manage to get the words out (although Tony wasn't sure if it was because Steve was terrified too or if he didn't want to hurt Tony) and his eyes were still wide.

There was a definite gloss to them, Tony was sure, and it seemed to be spreading down his face. Was Steve _crying_? Oh God, Tony had done it, he'd finally done it, he _broke_ Captain America. Fury was going to be so pissed, oh God, what was he supposed to do now-

"Of course I'll marry you, you idiot," Steve whispered, eyes blinking to hold back tears.

Tony didn't believe in Heaven, didn't believe in any sort of afterlife. He barely believed in God (honestly the only reason he _did_ was because he had _met_ one, thereby making it rather hard to not believe). But hearing those words from Steve's mouth made him doubt every belief he'd ever had. If there was a Heaven, then Tony was living in it _right now_.

All of a sudden his limbs seemed willing to obey him again, his leg suddenly recognizing the intense pain it felt from remaining in one position for so long and urging him to get up, his fingers plucking the ring from the box. He moved, standing up and stepping closer to Steve so he could grab the man's wrist and push the band onto his finger, smiling as he twisted it into place.

The red and gold band shined in the faint city light, and Tony couldn't press down his emotions any more. The happiness he felt being with Steve was _nothing_ compared to the irrepressible joy he felt staring at that tiny metal band on his finger, an irrefutable symbol that Rodgers was _taken_. All the worry, nervousness and panic drained from Tony's body, leaving him weak and tired and completely pliant in Steve's arms. Tony laced their fingers together, rubbing against the band. He felt his smile widen as Steve wrapped his free arm around him, pulling the man to him in a soft, chaste kiss full of love and future promises.


	21. Morning Person

Tony wasn't a morning person. In fact, he hated mornings. Loathed them with a greater passion than a time of day really deserved.

It was mostly due to the fact that he equated mornings with sleeping, and he didn't really like sleeping. It was a waste of time, it was hours of his life he could have spent working but instead was forced into doing _nothing_. And of course by the time he woke up any caffeine rush he had built up the previous day was gone, leaving him feeling tired and annoyed and with a pounding headache.

It had gotten slightly better with Steve around, but even now Tony didn't really like mornings because Steve was normally up and moving long before Tony. Which meant Tony normally woke up after accidentally rolling onto Steve's side of the bed, the mattress still indented but obnoxiously cold. He'd jerk away, his hands struggling to grip the sheets in an effort to stop himself from throwing his body off the side of the bed.

Then he'd lay still and stare at the empty space next to him, trying to determine whether he'd just woken up from a really elaborate dream. Was Steve really sleeping with him last night? Had they actually started dating? His mind would be a cloudy, jumbled haze until eventually his eyes picked up on a few stray short blond hairs. He'd roll over onto the other side of the bed and shove his nose into the cooling pillow, inhaling deeply and revealing in the scent that was most definitely Steve's. He'd relax into the bed, ignoring the slight cold and briefly contemplating trying to fall back asleep. Then he'd groan and force himself up, dragging the covers half off the bed as he worked to stand up.

He'd make his way over to the dresser with the sheets still draped over him, a cheap attempt at a cape. He'd trip at least once, stumbling and catching himself on the dresser and letting a few meaningless swears while he steadied himself, pulling the fabric out from under his feet and letting it pool in a massive pile on the floor. Later he'd have to ignore Steve's mild glares as the blond was forced to pick the discarded cloth up and remake the bed. For now, he was too tired to care.

Normally he'd wear the first set of clothes he pulled out, clean or not (Tony had what Steve had deemed a disgusting habit; he didn't always throw his clothes in the hamper after he wore them, sometimes he'd just toss them back in for another day). Taking a deep whiff, he'd either shrug in approval or grimace, and that would be the determinant factor as to whether or not he had to continue fishing around.

It was the same schedule every day, and yet Tony still found it oddly mystifying. Well, he more so found what happened after he left the room a wonder.

He knew Steve got up ridiculously early. It was like the man had an alarm clock built into his brain. Steve had told him he got up somewhere around four or five in the morning (six if he was 'sleeping in'). Depending on the weather, the soldier would either go for a jog outside or work out in the gym downstairs. By the time Tony woke up the guy had already finished his morning workout routine, showered and was well on his way to preparing either breakfast or an early lunch (or, in Tony's case, brunch).

Tony didn't wake up on a schedule. He got up whenever his mind finally shook out of sleeps hold; whether that be seven in the morning (which was unlikely, but it had happened a few times) or as late as 1 in the afternoon. So he didn't really understand how Steve always seemed to know when he was waking up. How on Earth did the soldier manage to know _exactly_ when he needed to be home, when to start cooking food, when to do _anything_ in regards to Tony?

He quickly ruled out Jarvis; Steve had enough of a problem trying to get into the lab, there was no way he was going to be caught talking to Jarvis about Tony's sleeping schedule. For a while he'd thought maybe one of the other Avengers had some deal where _they'd_ ask Jarvis and tell Steve, but that didn't seem likely either. First, if Steve was going through that much trouble it seemed likely the captain would suck up his pride and just ask the robot himself, and second, Steve still knew when to be around when the other Avengers were out.

Tony knew he was loud, but there was no way he was loud enough for it to travel through the _soundproof_ walls of their bedroom and into the kitchen. So how the hell did Rodgers figure out when Tony was going to force himself out of bed?

The question had been picking at Tony for weeks now. He never used to think about how Steve managed to constantly be around when needed. Then one night Tony yawned and realized he was _tired _because it was late and he had actually been going to bed at a reasonable time _because Steve always came down to drag him upstairs the moment he got tired_. And, sure enough, not a second passed between Tony yawning and Jarvis letting Steve into the lab.

Tony sighed, running his hands over his face and wiping the sleep out of his eyes. He wasn't used to having a question and no logical answer. True, he could just ask Steve, but something about that seemed like…_failing_. Like he couldn't figure out the answer himself. Like asking a magician how his tricks worked. It would be admitting that Tony Stark couldn't solve a problem, and Tony Stark could solve _any_ problem.

Finally he trudged away, kicking at the pile of blankets pooled on the floor and very nearly getting his feet tangled up in them. He cursed as he tripped once more, grabbing onto the table and hopping away, jerking his foot in a final (successful) attempt to free himself. Goddamn blankets.

As he made his way out into the kitchen the smell of bacon assaulted his nose. The room was warm and happy and Steve was gliding his way from place to place, piling on pancakes and bacon onto a plate that he then sat at Tony's usual spot.

The blond flashed him a grin, turning back to fix up his own plate before turning back towards the coffee maker and grabbing a steaming hot mug. He placed it by Tony's plate, smiling again and nodding towards it.

Tony, hesitant (Steve had never been known to fix a good cup of coffee, at least not using the coffee maker. Maybe if you liked it black and bitter, but Tony happened to like his a little on the sweet side…) trudged over and picked the piping hot cup up. He sniffed it questioningly before shrugging his shoulders and taking a tentative sip.

He smiled as he realized Steve had prepared his coffee _exactly_ right, right down to the small bit of foam present at the top.

So maybe Tony couldn't figure out how Steve knew everything, but honestly? The genius was surprised to say that didn't really bother him anymore. Steve knowing him was _nice¸_ and as long as the captain stayed around…well, maybe Tony could stop looking for answers and just accept the mystery.


	22. Bed

Steve was exhausted. Absolutely, mind numbingly exhausted.

It had been a long day full of meetings with important people down at S.H.I.E.L.D. wherein Steve had found himself covering for the entirety of his team, none of whom had deemed these meetings important enough to attend.

He expected this sort of thing from Tony, and always came prepared to defend him. His boyfriend was a mix of tired and forgetful and honestly just a bit self-centered, making it nearly impossible to get him to go to meetings on his own; it was a wonder his company had survived for so long. If Steve was being truthful with himself, he wasn't even sure if he'd _want_ Tony to go. It's not that he didn't like having the guy around, but as captain of the team he knew how…bad having Tony around could actually be. In big meetings it was probably best to keep the Avenger they initially refused out of the equation, rather than gave them further motivation for dismissing him.

The others, however? Save for Thor, they had no excuse. None of them were out on any missions, which meant they had deemed sitting up in the tower doing _nothing_ more important than their jobs.

So to say Steve was pissed would be an understatement. He was absolutely livid; how was he supposed to be a captain without a _team_?

For that reason he wasn't exactly quiet on his way back home; he'd slammed the door to the taxi (he'd even left them the cars to use, and they still didn't show up!) a little too hard, and for a moment he feared he'd actually broken it, but the driver took off before Steve could really process the thought. He'd then proceeded to slam the door entering the tower and stalked his way to the elevator, where he practically pushed the button into the wall.

He stopped to take a few calming breaths once he was in the confines of the metal box, willing himself to real his temper in. It wasn't like Steve to lose his cool so quickly, and he was already beginning to forgive the team. Maybe they'd forgotten about the meetings; it's not like Steve had reminded them, and he was pretty sure Tony never programmed Jarvis to message the Avengers for stuff like this. It was completely possible none of them showed up because they didn't know there was anything to show up to, and Steve was overreacting and getting mad at nothing.

The thought made the blond deflate, his angry seeping out of him, easily being replaced with guilt. He was their _captain_, their _leader_. He shouldn't make such rash judgments. He should believe his team was doing the right thing until he had proof that they weren't; that's what a captain did, right?

Steve sighed as the elevator dinged, doors opening on his and Tony's shared floor. He stepped out before stopping in the hallway, eyes flittering between the two doors. He hadn't opened his own door in a while; ever since Tony had made it clear he wanted to share a bed.

It had only been a couple nights after their first kiss. They hadn't really mentioned anything about it, and Steve had feared Tony felt the action was a mistake and was thus pretending it had never happened. He was filled with a mixture of relief and panic when Tony had come up from the lab one night and pulled Steve out of bed, dragging him across the hall and pushing him onto Tony's bed. The genius hadn't said a word, merely tugged the covers over the very confused blond and nestled up alongside him. He'd proceeded to do the same thing every night for about a week, until Steve eventually got the message and stopped trying to sleep in his own bed.

Of course, that was helped by the fact that most nights Steve was asleep long before Tony, and thus Tony had the benefit of being able to move Steve wherever he wanted. If he hadn't wanted the blond in his bed, he could either drag him back to his own room or (and this was probably more likely) sleep in the lab for the night. Tonight, however, Steve was home inexcusably late. He was fairly certain Tony had already gone to bed.

So what was he supposed to do? Part of him wanted to walk into their 'shared' bedroom and curl up in his usual spot, but if Tony was asleep Steve didn't want to risk waking him. The genius tended to be a pretty heavy sleeper, though, so as long as Steve kept himself in check…he should be able to get into the bed without waking the other? Then again, maybe it'd be safer to just sleep in his own bed for the night.

Except that might make Tony upset and Steve didn't want _that_ either. The blond groaned and withstood the strong urge to punch a wall. He was way too tired to be thinking about this right now, he just wanted this day to be over and to be in bed.

He quickly made up his mind, deciding to try and balance out his two options. He'd go and get changed in his bedroom, because if he was going to be making noise that's probably where he would be making it, and then he'd creep into Tony's room and try and get into bed.

Steve eased his door open and strode over to his dresser, not bothering to turn on the light. He fished around blindly until he managed to pull out some pants and a shirt, and then faced the daunting task of trying to get his tired limbs to obey him so he could get his dirty clothes off.

He finally managed, and the clothes fell in a heap, just barely covering his toes. He wiggled his way out, contemplating picking the worn garments up and putting them in the hamper before shaking his head. One day on the floor wouldn't kill them, and he was way too tired to bend over and grab at them. Besides that, it'd been difficult enough trying to get his clothes in the dark. He didn't want to think about how many things he'd run into trying to get to the hamper.

He pulled on the shirt, groaning and flailing slightly when the top got stuck around his head, but ultimately managed to get it on. His hands skimmed around the back of his neck, relieved to feel the slight itch of a tag confirming that he'd at least managed to put the shirt on properly. Next he pulled his pants up, jumping in place as he attempted to pull the legs all the way up without tripping.

By the time he was done he was proud of his choice. As hard as he tried he definitely hadn't been quiet getting changed. There was no way Tony would have slept through it, and he didn't need to think hard to imagine how hard the genius would be laughing if he'd been there to witness Steve's ungraceful motions.

He made his way into Tony's room with far less issue, his bare feet padding along the cold wood floor. He smiled at the large lump in the bed, relieved to find Tony had gone to bed without his prodding for once. The man's head was completely hidden by sheets and blankets, his slight breathing causing the covers to lift and rustle. It was adorable (though Tony would _kill_ Steve for describing him like that) and Steve found himself standing at side of the bed, content to watch the billionaire catch up on some much needed sleep.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand suddenly jerked out from under the covers, encircling his wrist and tugging. Caught off guard, Steve easily fell, his hands catching on the covers to prevent himself from landing on top of Tony. The edge of the blankets lifted up, the tan hand revealing its attached arm and, further in, the face of a tired brunette.

"Geez, Tony, why aren't you asleep-"

"You're cold." Tony mumbled, sleepiness laced in his voice. Steve opened his mouth, prepared to point out that Tony had completely avoided the question not to mention _of course Steve was cold, he hadn't been lying in bed for God knows how long_ when the brunette tugged harder on his captured wrist, rolling back into the bed and pulling Steve along with him.

Steve gladly obeyed, crawling underneath the covers and collapsing beside Tony. His wrist was freed as Tony's hands moved to wrap the blankets more securely around the two of them, pulling them over their heads and cutting them off from the rest of the room. Once satisfied, he shifted around, pressing his back into Steve's chest and reaching behind him to pull Steve's arms around him, groaning in contentment.

"You're still cold." He complained. Steve bit back a laugh, hugging the shorter man closer to him.

"Goodnight, Tony."


	23. Wearing Each Others Clothes

Tony didn't like sleeping. Steve had been working steadily to fix this, and Tony had to admit that it had been working fairly well so far – he'd gone to bed and gotten at least a couple of hours of sleep every night this past week, something he couldn't remember willingly doing since he was a kid.

When he did sleep, he loved to sleep in. He was almost never up before noon on a Saturday, a fact that Steve had been forced to get used to. And, really, the only reason he _did_ wake up at noon was because that was when Steve would come in with food, a sort of brunch filled with toast and bacon and coffee and everything that made waking up worth it.

On the rare days when he did wake up before Steve, he'd normally try and go back to sleep. This wasn't as hard as it sounds; even if the sun was starting to peak through the curtains (which it very rarely was, as Steve had some issue with sleeping past six A.M. that Tony had yet to figure out) the steady heat pulsing from Steve and the comforting arms wrapped around him were normally enough to lull him back into sleep.

Today was not one of those days, unfortunately. It was four thirty in the morning and Tony was wide awake. He'd thought about waking his boyfriend up but begrudgingly decided against it as he realized Steve had actually gone to bed later than he had (some stupid ass meeting with Fury and then a crap ton of paperwork that the soldier was unwilling to put off for another day) and from the look on his face was in desperate need of sleep. He'd tried for a while to go back to sleep, pressing his face against his pillow. When that didn't work he twisted around to face Steve, wrapping his arms around the sleeping man and leaning into his neck, breathing in the comforting scent of his boyfriend and listening to the soothing sound of his breathing.

When it became clear that his mind was already fired up and unwilling to shut down for a couple of hours, Tony had sighed and shifted again, lying on his back. He stared up at the ceiling, formulas and equations dancing in his head as his morning grogginess slowly faded until he was left far too awake.

His eyes shifted across the room, falling onto one of Steve's partially opened drawers. Damn, the guy must have been really tired.

Moving carefully, Tony wrapped his fingers around Steve's wrist, gently tugging it up, releasing himself from the captain's hold. He was immensely grateful the guy wasn't such a soldier when he was sleeping, allowing Tony to successfully extract himself from his hold.

Bare feet hit cold wood floors as he slowly pushed himself off the bed, wincing as the mattress shifted and Steve mumbled incoherently, hands fisting into the sheets as he fell back into a deep sleep. Padding over to the dresser, Tony bent over and began pushing clothes down, quietly shutting the drawer. His eyes scanned the room, noting that Steve had definitely been exhausted last night; yesterday's clothes littered the floor, all thrown together in a messy pile, signaling where Steve must have gotten changed.

Tony shivered slightly; the room was far too cold for comfort. His focus drifted down, catching on Steve's familiar worn leather jacket, the only piece of clothing that he'd carefully put away, folding it and lying it on top of a chair. Biting his lip, Tony slowly made his way over to it, casting one look back to make sure Steve was still sleeping as he unfolding the jacket and slide it over his arms.

It was a little big for Tony, but he'd expected that. He folded the excess material over, trying to capture as much warmth from it as he could. Bringing a sleeve up to his face, he took a whiff, revealing in how it had captured Steve's scent.

Said soldier shifted on the bed again, causing Tony to jerk around. It's not like he was worried about Steve being mad, he was sure the blond wouldn't yell at him for something as stupid as wearing his clothes. But his ego? That was another matter. Tony wasn't some girl, he wasn't going to start stealing his boyfriends clothes for security. And he sure as hell didn't want to have to deal with the amusement that was certain to dance in those blue eyes. No, he'd just have to keep an eye on Steve and make sure he was wearing his own clothes when the guy woke up.

Of course, Steve was tired, so he probably wouldn't be up until six. Which gave Tony a good hour and a half before he had to worry about the other waking. His eyes fell back to the remaining discarded clothes and he gulped.

Before he had time to rethink, Tony shrugged out of the jacket, shivering as cold air was allowed access to his naked chest again and already missing the sense of comfort wearing it had offered. If wearing Steve's jacket made him nice, imagine what wearing the rest of Steve's clothes would do? He picked up a plaid button up, shrugging it on. Nimble fingers buttoned it up, smoothing down the excess fabric and rolling the too-long sleeves up. He stepped out of his pajama pants and into brown corduroys (and immediately decided that no, this was one argument Steve could not win; jeans were infinitely more comfortable than this shit). He zipped and buttoned them up only to find that they slid uncomfortably low the moment he tried to walk, his feet getting caught in the leg, nearly causing him to trip.

He managed to steady himself and make his way over to Steve's side of the closet, poking through his stuff until he found what he was looking for; a sleek brown belt. Pulling the leather throught the belt loops, he fastened it up tight and smiled, grabbing the discarded jacket and pulling it back up over his shoulders before he turned towards the mirror.

He looked like a kid wearing their dad's clothes; completely ridiculous. Steve's stuff was way too big on him, even with the belt and the sleeves rolled up. His hands were covered by the sleeves of the jacket, and his feet were stepping on the uncomfortable brown pants. Still, he thought, turning the collar of the button-up towards his face, it brought a certain comfort to him. It was like Steve was enveloping him, his entire body was captured in the warmth and peace that the soldier offered. He might have to try taking some of Steve's stuff next time he was due to go on a mission. It'd certainly make nights more bearable.

"Is this what you normally do when you wake up before me?" An amused but tired voice sounded from behind him. Tony jerked around, his feet getting caught and causing him to crash to the floor with a thud. Eyes wide with panic, he looked first at the slowly becoming coherent soldier and then down at himself, clad in all of the man's clothes. His mouth opened and shut, words seemingly unable to come out of the normally exceptionally charismatic man.

"No?" He finally squeaked out, hands starting to pull at the belt in an effort to force the clothes off. Embarrassment raced onto his features, his skin pinking and his nimble fingers fumbling with the pants.

Steve had already eased himself out of bed, his eyes still looking slightly tired but definitely focused. He strode over to Tony, kneeling down alongside the still sprawled out man and reaching his hands over, running along the too-big leather coat.

"You know, Tony, if you wanted to wear my clothes you could have at least picked out fresh ones. I know I have some in here."

"They wouldn't smell like you," the smaller man muttered, blushing harder and looking anywhere but Steve.

"What?" Steve asked, eyes widening and a definite mirth entering them.

"They wouldn't smell like you," Tony repeated, eyes carefully looking up at Steve to gauge his reaction, "You use that fabric softener shit, it makes all your clean stuff smell like flowers. They don't smell like you until you wear them again."

"I thought you said you don't normally wear my clothes, Tony?"

"I don't!" Tony objected, aware too late of how loud and defensive he sounded.

"Then how do you know what my clothes smell like before I wear them? I have to nag you to put away your own stuff, I know you're not doing _mine_."

At this, Tony fell silent, all too aware of his slip up. Okay, so maybe when Steve was away for a while he did occasionally slip up and need some comfort. Normally he'd just lay on Steve's side of the bed, but after a while even that smell started to fade and Tony would find it hard to fall asleep. Sometimes he could call the superhero, but others they were in such different time zones Tony knew he'd be interrupting something. And while he was certain Steve wouldn't mind, he definitely didn't want to see like the overly clingy girlfriend. He was an independent guy, damnit, and he could handle being left alone for a bit.

So he'd started rifling through Steve's drawers and sleeping with his clothes inside of his pillow. It hadn't worked at first, because Steve's stuff smelled too fresh and clean and not like Steve at all. Then one trip Steve had been running late and had forgotten to take care of his wash beforehand, leading to Tony sifting through the hamper in search of whatever had best captured the essence of his boyfriend.

He'd felt a little embarrassed of it at first, sure, but he'd quickly gotten over it when he realized how _well_ it worked. It was the next best thing to having the man within reach. He was always careful to bury the clothes back in the hamper before Steve came back, and he made sure that Steve tended to run late to his future trips so he'd leave behind enough clothes in the hamper for Tony to sift through.

"You know," Steve whispered, breathe hot against the crest of Tony's ear, "it's okay if you _do_ do this a lot. I really don't mind." Steve's hands moved off the front of the jacket, slipping underneath and rubbing against the buttons of the long-sleeve shirt. Tony gulped slightly, quickly catching on and moving his own hands over the captain's bare chest.

"Really?" He mumbled, shifting his position so he was kneeling as well.

"Really." Steve answered, his hands moving to grab at the ones currently brushing against his chest, pulling the two of them up and dragging them towards the bed. Tony smiled. Maybe waking up before the captain wasn't always a bad things.


	24. Coffee Shop

"You're wrong."

The words were said nonchalantly enough, but still managed to annoy Steve. He _wasn't _wrong, _Tony_ was. It was time the genius figured out that his excessively high IQ didn't mean he was constantly right about everything!

"Tony, I'm right. You're wrong."

"_No_, Steve. Coffee is way better than tea! There's not even a completion here, so just admit you're wrong, order some coffee and let's go!"

"I'm not ordering anything until you admit you're the one whose wrong here!"

The day had started out normally enough; Tony had finished up work in the lab earlier than normal, and rather than risk letting him start in on another project, Steve had dragged him out for a walk around the city. He'd only managed to convince Tony to come along by promising to stop and get coffee before coming home, and even then he'd had to promise that it'd be 'good' coffee and not street vendor stuff (Tony still brought up the time Steve had insisted he try a street vendor hotdog only for the genius to wind up feeling nauseas and vomiting later that night). The genius had pulled on an old sweatshirt, baseball cap and sunglasses and soon after insisted Steve join him, convinced that they'd be recognized otherwise. So, Steve had somehow wound up wearing one of Tony's many hats and an overly large sweatshirt that hung too low on his hips (he'd drawn the line at the sunglasses; it was _cloudy out_, for God's sake, wouldn't that make them more noticeable?)

They'd walked around the city and through a few parks, Steve jokingly pointing at every street vendor they passed (except for the one he'd previously taken Tony to, out of mild fear that the genius would get mad and try and yell at the owner). Tony apparently didn't find it as funny as Steve, and if they weren't already a good distance away from the tower (and still coffee-less) Steve was pretty sure the brunette would have stalked off a while ago.

He'd finally stopped when Tony looked to be around his breaking point, his hands shoved into the front pocket of his sweatshirt and his head tucked down like the sidewalk was the only thing worth staring at (or, in this case, perhaps the only thing that wasn't currently insulting him). Luckily there was a quaint coffee shop not too far from where they were, and Steve had managed to quickly usher the petulant man-child he called his boyfriend inside.

Tony had brightened considerable once they entered the warm interior of the shop, inhaling deeply and smiling at the strong aroma of coffee beans in the air. They'd waited patiently in line, although Tony had taken to bouncing around like a five year old around five minutes in, his eyes scanning over every different type of flavored coffee they offered. He'd insisted on reading nearly every single one of them to Steve, changing his mind about what he should get once every few seconds until he'd finally decided on some sort of nutmeg flavored drink with a name longer than Steve cared to remember.

Of course, that had led to Tony asking Steve what he was getting, and Steve debating himself. Tony had very nearly gone into list mode again, which had set Steve into a mild panic; they were already close to the counter, and if Tony started relisting everything it was probably the genius would change his mind on what he was getting _again_ and they really didn't have time for that.

So Steve had cut him off with a quick and curt _'_I'm not really in the mood for coffee, Tony, I think I'll just get some tea.'

Of all the answers Steve could have possibly given Tony, 'tea' was apparently the worst. The genius had stared at him, mouth wide and eyes unblinking. Finally his mind must have kicked back in and reminded him that he was a _genius _and he wasn't supposed to look like that, and his vocal cords kicked in.

"Steve. We're at a coffee shop. Why on Earth would you get _tea_?"

"Because…I like tea, Tony. I like it better than coffee, actually."

"I've _never_ seen you drink tea." Tony shook his head, seemingly proud of his 'evidence'.

"That's because I normally drink it in the mornings, before you wake up. I drink tea a lot, Tony. We have a drawer full of it in the kitchen."

"I thought that was Bruce's stuff? That calming green stuff he likes?"

"That's in the main kitchen, Tony. Why would Bruce keep _his_ tea in _our_ kitchen?"

"I don't know!" Tony threw up his hands, exasperated, _"_why would _you_ keep tea in our kitchen?"

"Because _I like tea_, Tony, we've been over this!"

The 'fight' had gone on like that for a while, the two arguing the entire way up to the counter (much to the annoyance of everyone else in the coffee shop, Steve noticed with embarrassment). When it came to be their turn to order Tony wasted no time shooting off his complex-sounding request, but he quickly cut Steve off.

"There's no way you can say you _honestly_ like tea better than coffee."

"I'm sorry, Tony, but I happen to think tea is better than coffee."

"You're wrong."

And that was where they were now, arguing about something as arbitrary as coffee versus tea. Every time Steve opened his mouth to order Tony would quickly cut him off with a curt 'he doesn't really want that' and the cashier would look so hopeless confused because she hadn't even managed to hear what Steve apparently _didn't _want and the line behind them was getting longer and more agitated with every passing second. Steve's face was getting red, both from embarrassment and from the argument, and Tony's coffee had been sitting on the pickup side of the counter for a while before finally, _finally_, Steve managed to shout his order loud enough for the cashier to hear, nod her head and enter into the machine.

"_Coffee is better than tea, Steve_."

"I swear, Tony, if you say that one more time-"

"Give me one good reason why tea is better-"

"It's _relaxing, _Tony, whereas your coffee just gets you more amped up," Steve snapped back, pulling out a clump of dollar bills and paying for the drinks.

"Yeah, you _certainly_ seem calm."

"Maybe I will be, after I get my tea and you _shut up_."

"Psh, you're going to drink that and realize just how _wrong_ you are."

"I'm not wrong, Tony, you're not right about_ everything_, you know."

"Maybe not, but I _am_ right about this thing-"

"Excuse me?" The timid voice of the cashier broke through the two Avengers bantering. Steve found himself straightening up automatically, as if he expected the tiny girl to start yelling at him for his poor behavior, whereas Tony just smirked, happy to have gotten what he deemed to be the 'last word'.

"Yes, I'm sorry, I swear we're not normally-"

"Oh, no, it's not that, that's fine!" The cashier insisted, waving off Steve's apology. "People get into crazy fights when they're caffeine deprived, really, its fine."

"Oh, well…" Steve seemed uncertain for a moment, his hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck to quell his embarrassment. He stopped halfway, not wanting to give Tony the satisfaction of being the only one to be outwardly embarrassed. "Did I not give you enough money, then?"

"Actually, you gave me too much, but that's beside the point. We're running a new promotion and I'm supposed to tell all of our customers about it; would you two be interested in trying one of our new pumpkin muffins today?"

Steve was just about to say no when he glanced over at Tony, who was staring at the cashier with wide eyes, as though she had just offered him the greatest gift possible.

"You have pumpkin muffins?" Tony asked, already starting to rock in excitement.

"Yes sir, they're part of a new fall promotion we're running-"

"Steve, you have to get pumpkin muffins, pumpkin muffins are the _best _Steve, we have to get-"

"Okay, okay!" Steve quickly interjected, "we'll take two-"

"Four, we'll take four," Tony cut back in, grabbing Steve's arm and tugging at his sleeve, staring at the captain with hopeful eyes.

"Yes, fine, four, we'll take four pumpkin muffins then." Steve sighed, reaching back in his pocket to get his wallet out and finished paying.

"Oh god, Steve, you're the best, you know that? This is the best."

"Even though I like tea?" Steve teased, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the bag of muffins from the cashier.

"Dude, who the hell cares anymore _we have pumpkin muffins._"


	25. Straighten Your Tie

Steve Rodgers looked good in a suit.

This fact wasn't lost on Tony, and as he watched the tall blond straighten his shirt and jacket for the umpteenth time, he silently promised to convince him to wear suits far more often. Even if that meant having to go to more boring ass 'parties' and events.

Steve was wearing one of the suits Tony had bought him. His crisp white shirt was freshly ironed (for someone who didn't wear suits often, Steve was certainly particular when he did, and he'd refused to wear _anything_ unless he'd ironed it himself) and tucked into his dark black dress pants. A dark black jacket completed the top half of his look, the material covering the suspenders Steve had also insisted on wearing. A blue tie Tony had given him for his birthday hung around his neck, freshly tied and smooth and shiny. Tony was proud of the perfect hue of the material; it managed to bring out the bright, gorgeous blue of Steve's eyes perfectly.

A hint of black cotton showed as he lifted the bottom of his pants up so he could pull on his shoes. He was sitting as straight as possible on the bed in an attempt to keep his shirt from crinkling more than necessary, one leg balanced on top of the other so he could shove his feet into the somewhat restrictive black leather shoes.

Tony couldn't tear his eyes away, his hands falling to his sides as he finished pulling on his own clothes, his mind running through how long Steve would insist they stay at the social before they could come back home. As much as Tony loved Steve in a suit, he had the distinct feeling he'd find it far more fun to take him _out_ of a suit.

A hint of thin black showed as Steve bent a little more, his suspenders just barely pushing out past the cover of the jacket. Tony wasn't a huge suspenders fan, but _damn_, Steve managed to pull them off well. Tony wanted nothing more than to grab the material and use it to pull Steve forward, force them together-

"Tony," Steve's voice interrupted his fantasies, Tony's mind running in overdrive to catch up and ensure the captain had only just started talking, and he hadn't missed anything (because, horny as he may be, Tony was still a genius and geniuses don't need people to repeat themselves). Steve had finished pulling on his shoes, brushing the back of his hand against the patent leather, sweeping off nonexistent dust. His eyes scanned up Tony's frame as he pushed himself off the bed, refixing his clothes as he strode towards the brunette.

"Your tie's not straight, Tony." Steve laughed, his hands already reaching up and tugging at the thin black necktie, pulling it undone and evening out the length. His hands were working on autopilot, tying it up and pulling the knot tight enough. Tony faked a chocked cough in response, though his eyes lit up in amusement, and Steve found his smile widening.

His hands trailed down the silk tie, strong fingers brushing along the fabric until they reached the end. Tony let out a slight groan, itching to stand up just a _little _straighter. A little bit further down and Steve would be brushing against his pants, and those blue eyes would glance down and he'd see just how much Tony _didn't_ want to go to this silly party.

Of course, Steve was way too well behaved to grant Tony his wish. Not to mention, he'd been around the genius long enough to know how easily Tony got horny and he'd probably put two and two together when he'd caught the brunette staring. Still, Tony held out hope, letting a tiny whine escape from the back of his throat as his own hands traced up Steve's front, one hand dropping to encircle his wrist in an attempt to force his hands down lower.

Another chuckle escaped Steve's throat as his super soldier strength became apparent, his hands not even straining under the force of Tony's.

"Steve," Tony whined, releasing his hand and gripping the front of the others jacket. He used it to pull himself up, balancing carefully on his toes and feeling the expensive fabric stretch under the force of his weight.

Steve allowed their lips to brush together, not bending down to assist but definitely not resisting the shorter man's advances. Tony let out a hum of approval, vainly attempting to drag the taller man closer, one hand reaching up to wrap around Steve's neck to try and force his head down.

Tony could feel Steve smile against his lips as the man finally gave, tilting his head down and bending so Tony had better access. Eager as ever, Tony quickly worked to deepen the kiss, his tongue pushing out and lapping at Steve's lip until the blond allowed access. They only stayed like that for a moment before Steve decided to take the next step, grabbing the shorter man's hips and manhandling him until his back was pressed firmly against the door. Tony felt himself get lifted up and he wrapped his legs around Steve's waist, his pants quickly reminding him both that he was _painfully_ turned on and that this sort of movement wasn't exactly encouraged; he could feel the fabric threaten to give and he quickly moved to readjust, trying to relieve the strain.

Steve's hands found their way to Tony's hair, tangling into it and messing up the already tousled brunette locks. Tony hummed in approval, his hands starting to make their way up to return the favor. He was quickly stopped, Steve giving his bottom lip a quick nip before pulling away.

"Hands off, Tony," he murmured before pressing their lips back together again, this time forcing his tongue inside. Tony let out a grunt of disproval but obeyed, his hands falling down to grab at Steve's belt instead, nimble fingers desperately trying to pull the damn thing off.

Tony loved these moments. They were the rare times when his brain was well and truly off, to the point where he could barely remember anything. If he hadn't been wearing such restrictive clothing he'd probably have forgotten that they had somewhere to be, although being aware of that didn't really do much to stop him anyway.

Still, if they _hadn't _had somewhere to be, Steve definitely would've been willing to go further. Tony never would have been pushed against the door; if they were already in the bedroom he would've been pressed straight onto the bed. Tony knew how Steve was; he didn't tended to follow rules to the letter, and so long as they had a place to be there was no chance Steve was going to let this escalate out of control.

That didn't help to relieve Tony's disappointment when the blond finally did pull away, a smile on his bruised lips and his cheeks flushed. Tony felt himself get carefully lowered to the ground and he groaned, letting his head bang against the door.

"Come on, Steve, you can't just _use_ me like that!" He complained, eyes opening in time to catch Steve tuck his shirt back in. He wasted no time making himself presentable again. Even his _body_ seemed aware it had somewhere to be, the flush dying down as quickly as it had built up.

He didn't cool down completely, however; when they finally made eye contact Tony was relieved to see a spark of arousal still glowing. Steve moved back towards him, grabbing at Tony's loosened tie and pulling it tight once more. He bent his head down until his mouth was pressed against Tony's ear, his breath hot against the side of Tony's face.

"Better," he whispered. He pressed a quick kiss onto Tony's cheek before swatting him away from the door and heading downstairs, leaving Tony to deal with his frustration and needs alone.


	26. Chores

Tony didn't typically spend his time doing chores. He had deemed them a useless waste of time back when he was a kid, and the first few robots he designed were dedicated to completing the ridiculous jobs society said were necessary.

Nowadays he had developed new technology to cover just about every non-fun activity he could be made to do. They cleaned the floor and sprayed air freshener when needed. They monitored food supplies and wrote out lists of whatever the tower was running low on (they used to order said items, but Steve had put a stop to that, insisting grocery shopping was 'fun'.). He had robots to put out fires and robots to dust and robots to take out the trash.

The latter of which currently was not doing its job. Tony had been heading down to the lab to try and determine the problem when Steve stopped him, grabbing him by the shoulder.

"You know, Tony, by the time you figured out what was wrong with it, you could've just taken out the trash yourself."

"I don't see _you_ taking out the trash, Steve-o," Tony had meant the comment as a joke, but winced when it came out a little snarkier and harsher than he'd meant. Steve shook his head, seemingly unbothered, causing a wave of relief to pulse through Tony.

"I _did, _Tony. The robot hasn't been working for three days now, and this team makes a lot of garbage. I brought out a batch last night. It's your turn."

"And I will take _my_ turn, as soon as I fix _my_ robot." Steve rolled his eyes but released Tony, heading back to whatever damn hallway he'd come from. At some point Steve must have found time to take spy lessons from Clint or Natasha, because he managed to travel through the tower like nobody's business. It was unnerving.

It was no secret Steve didn't like Tony's robots. After all, he came from a time when technology wasn't anywhere near as advanced and people had to do _everything._ Steve had especially been troubled by chores, considering his previous dealings with asthma and low muscle mass. Having robots around was just one more way to make Steve feel cut off from society.

Of course, Steve had never told Tony any of that. He didn't have to. Tony could see it in the way Steve would press his lips together in a tight line whenever he saw a machine doing something a person used to. He could see it in the way his blue eyes seemed to grow a little harder whenever Tony insisted he was 'too busy' to take care of a stupid, menial task even though all Tony was currently doing was watching a rerun of a show he'd later complain about.

Most of all, he heard it in Steve's tone, whenever he made a quiet request for Tony to at least _try_ and do something himself. It wasn't that Steve didn't respect Tony's work and developments, he just didn't understand _why_. Why, of all the things Tony could build, did he choose to make machines whose sole function was something _Tony could already do in the first place_?

Tony frowned as he entered his lab, Steve's words still echoing around his mind. The blond was right; by the time Tony figured out whatever was wrong with the robot and got around to fixing it, he could have just as easily brought the trash outside. But then what reason would he have to fix it later? He would always be able to try and find five spare minutes to waste on garbage removal, in which case he'd _never_ fix the robot. It would sit and collect dust (or at least it would sit, and the dust sweeping robot would clean it. Until that robot broke too, and then suddenly everything would either collect dust or Tony would have to try and figure out how he could squeeze dusting into his hectic schedule, because really, Steve's logic could be applied to _any_ of his chore-based robots) and nothing good would ever come of it.

Still, Tony found himself hesitant to sit down and get to work on the robot. Steve might be wrong, but he was still…sort of right? Tony had never done anything for himself. He'd always had butlers and workers around when he was young, and by the time he was old enough to have to take responsibility for menial tasks he was also old enough to build things. He didn't need to actually complete said tasks to know how to do them, so he'd just sort of jumped straight into the development phase. He'd never picked up a full garbage bag or sprayed a can of dust spray; he just knew the basic mechanics of how it would, theoretically, be done.

Steve had been trying to change that ever since he got into the tower. It had started with tiny things, like stopping the robots from ordering groceries so Steve could do it instead. Then, suddenly, Tony woke up one morning and was dragged out to the grocery store _with _Steve, and that became a tradition between the two. Now, cooking and grocery shopping were all done by the soldier, and Tony knew Steve was slowly trying to work his way into handing other tasks around the tower, too.

It didn't bother Tony, because he knew it was just the blonde's way of trying to help out and fit in. None of the other Avengers felt the need to do something in order to warrant their free stay in the tower. Steve did. Steve was the type of person who would pay _rent_ if Tony would allow him, even though he knew Tony was a billionaire and didn't _need_ the money. He'd pay just because he thought it was right, because he felt he was obligated to do so. So, for the most part, Tony just allowed Steve to worm his way into the tower, completing whatever tasks made him feel useful and needed and worth keeping around.

He tried not to roll his eyes every time Steve bent down to pick up a crumpled piece of paper, striding over to throw into a nearby garbage can (whose lid he would normally manually open, even though it was technically equipped with motion sensors and would open automatically if Steve just waved his hand in front of it). He didn't comment when Steve would then go and wash his hands, turning the water on and regulating it the way _he_ liked it instead of using the preset _perfect_ temperature.

Tony had watched Steve do all of these things, and yet he'd never actually tried to do them himself. Unless Steve was around, Tony actually _forgot_ about the whole robots versus human thing. He was just so used to it all. Steve never intentionally complained about the matter, and he never tried to actually _stop_ any of the robots from doing their task. Steve had been making his own effort to try and adapt to modern technology and customs, and Tony had, in all honesty, been a pretty bad boyfriend for refusing to try any of _Steve's_ ways of life.

Tony glanced at the broken robot again, then back over to the very full garbage can in his lab. His resolve was crumbling. He wanted to fix the robot; he really did, but…

But he also wanted to understand Steve, at least a little bit. He wanted Steve to know that somewhere, deep down, Tony was also trying to make an effort. Because otherwise, this wasn't fair to Steve. Steve hadn't _asked_ for anyone to rip him out of the ice and force him to live in a time outside of his own, but Tony _had_ asked to be a part of this. And Tony was at least partially responsible for Steve being around; he very easily could have either shut down all searches for Captain America on the grounds of it kinda-sorta being related to Stark Industries, or he could have _doubled_ the efforts, found the soldier, and _left him alone_. Knowing that, why should Steve have to adjust to the twenty-first century, while no one else ever bothered to learn about his 40's customs? Tony couldn't allow that. He was a _good_ boyfriend, damn it all, and he would not allow Steve to be alone like that.

His resolve crumbled completely, and Tony turned away from his lab bench in favor of the garbage can, leaning down to pick up the slightly smelly bag. He tossed it over his shoulder as he headed towards the elevator, one hand reaching up to plug his nostrils, a weak defense against the odor.

He'd bring out the garbage, _just this once_, because then they'd be even. Steve had harkened back to his times and brought it out once, but allowed the new technology to handle the task otherwise. Tony had allowed the robots to handle it, except for _today_, when he would try and understand the old, do-it-yourself society Steve had grown up in.


	27. Jealousy

Tony didn't understand why it was necessary _he_ attend these stupid functions. Sometimes he thought he might have liked it better before, back when Stane was head of the company and Tony was nothing more than the token prodigy. He hadn't had any responsibilities back then, instead he'd had the sweet freedom (and money) to do whatever he wanted.

Then he had taken over, and Pepper had begun insisting he start showing his face and becoming more than 'that son who almost ruined Stark Industries'. He'd gone along with it at first because they were dating and Pepper had the perfect card to play whenever she wanted Tony to do something; she'd just withhold sex. Then they'd broken up, and for a little while Tony stopped going just to piss her off. Then Pepper passed her winning hand on to Steve, and Tony found himself forced to attend again.

Tony did his best to put on a good face, though, as he knew deep down his outward appearance was, for whatever reason, critical to these investors. Too many wrong words would cause them to back out and start withholding money, and too much of _that_ would lead to Steve getting angry and that would lead to bad times for Tony.

So Tony made sure to dress nice (even though Steve probably wouldn't let him leave the tower otherwise, and, besides that, Tony did care what other people thought…just a little bit) and he socialized just enough to keep everyone off his back. He didn't tend to get into deep conversation; it rarely surpassed 'how's the weather' or complimenting the venue choice. Every once in a while someone would ask him what he was working on and Tony would get defensive and try and escape the conversation (and later he'd complain to Steve about how stupid people kept trying to steal his ideas, and he'd pointedly ignore how Steve rolled his eyes and focus instead on the comforting hand that would squeeze his shoulder and the soft words of agreement that Steve would whisper into his ear).

Today's conversation was honestly a first, and in Tony's mind that was a damn poor thing. If there was one thing he would actually look _forward_ to talking about it would be his heroic duties, and yet that seemed to be a conversation everyone steered clear of. Everyone except for this young girl in front of him, apparently.

She was pretty enough, Tony had to admit. If it had been a few months ago she was exactly the type he would have gone for, especially given her opening choice of conversation. Her blond hair fell in gentle waves against her back, ends hitting against her rather large butt. Blue eyes were exemplified using a gracious application of mascara; honestly, the girls' one fault was that she was wearing a little _too_ much makeup. Her entire face was done up, and while Tony could appreciate her attempt at making herself look appealing, she had to know it was for nothing.

Everyone knew he and Steve were together; they'd been on the cover of countless magazines and it'd even been brought up in an interview or two. Steve had been hesitant about others knowing at first, but after a while he'd grown far more comfortable with the idea of dating a man. Tony was willing to bet this was only a small push in deciding to announce their relationship to the press, however; he'd seen the looks Steve gave him when others flirted with Tony, and he knew Steve clung to the stupid notion that one day Tony would get sick of their relationship and would fuck the nearest available person.

Outing their relationship status was just one way Steve tried to stake his claim, one way he tried to make sure everyone else backed off of the genius. If it was anyone else, Tony probably would have been pissed, but honestly, he was a little flattered Steve wanted to go to such lengths to keep him around. Even if the idea of his leaving was absolutely ridiculous.

So this girl was either ridiculous cocky or an idiot. Possibly both, Tony mused. At first he'd been happy to engage in conversation with her; it seemed innocent enough (well, maybe not, but the girl hadn't outright flirted and Tony was willing to pass off any implications he got). Then she'd started to move closer and closer, and her hand had lifted up just enough to brush against his. He'd frozen for but a second, his mind rushing to try and figure out a way to get out of the situation (preferably _before_ Steve saw) and his eyes searching around the room to try and find someone he could latch onto.

Of course, this had to be the one moment where _no one he knew _was around him, and Tony found himself mentally cursing as the blond shifted her weight so she was a tad bit closer to him. Her eyes had widened considerably, and she was blinking in a way that she undoubtedly meant to look seductive but in reality made her look like she had an eyelash caught in her eye.

"You know, this party's getting kinda boring, don't you think?" She whispered, her fingers trying to lace with Tony's. She quickly found the task to be impossible as Tony pressed his fingers together, leaving her to awkwardly grasp his hand in hers.

"Oh, I couldn't agree more. In fact, I think I'm gonna go find my _boyfriend," _Tony practically yelled the word, knowing that this would be the moment he determined whether the girl was truly stupid (which may be slightly forgivable, and at least meant this situation was over) or overly confident and slutty (which definitely _wasn't_ forgivable, and meant Tony would have to try harder to lose her).

"I can think of something that'll be _much_ more entertaining," she purred. Tony mentally cursed. Of course it had to be the latter; nothing could ever be _easy_ for Tony Stark. He rolled his eyes, not really caring if the slut saw, and pulled his hand free of her grip. She gave chase, leaning forward a little more and almost toppling into him, but he remained steadfast.

"I don't know who you think you are," Tony hissed, leaning down slightly in an attempt to keep his voice low and avoid creating a scene (he was fairly certain the captain hadn't seen them yet, and he was hoping to keep it that way) "but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the media hasn't quite been clear enough for your thick head; I'm _happily taken_, so you can fuck off."

"I can think of something I'd _much rather_ fuck," The she-devil murmured.

Her hands moved quickly, wrapping around Tony's neck and before he had time to react she pushed herself up and connected their lips.

Tony's first thoughts were that of disgust; not only could this girl _not kiss_, her lips were covered in some sort of sticky lip gloss that made his feel gross and uncomfortable. He threw his arms up, pushing the girl off as hard as he could, not really caring if he accidently hurt her.

He didn't get a chance to do any damage, though, because Steve chose that moment to materialize. The moment their lips separated the taller blonde's shadow fell over him, and Tony could practically feel the irritation radiating out of him. Steve was glaring at the girl, one arm moving to wrap around Tony's waist as he pulled the brunette in for a much better kiss, his lips working the shorter mans with practiced ease.

Apparently the girl was at least somewhat stupid, because while Tony figured she would have scrammed she remained staring at the two men, her own eyes slowly narrowing into an angry glare. Steve finally pulled away when it became apparent the girl had no intention of leaving, shifting his gaze off of Tony's hazy eyes and onto the blue of their newfound enemy.

"This," Steve's voice was seething, his grip getting tighter as he pulled a weak-kneed Tony closer, "is mine. Ask around, look around, _read around_, everything will tell you the same; you don't touch him and you don't _kiss _him, _especially_ after he already made it _very_ clear to you he wasn't interested."

"Oh, is that what he was doing?" The girl responded, drolly, "I'm sorry; I thought he was just stating useless facts. Or did I mistake _your_ Tony Stark for _another_ Tony Stark?"

Tony tensed up at the comment, mild embarrassment flushing his cheeks. He deserved that, he had to admit, but that didn't mean _Steve _needed to deal with it. His eyes moved to take in the captain, noting his tense jaw and narrowed eyes.

"I was brought up not to hit girls," Steve mused, a sudden dark glint entering his blue eyes, "so I'm going to suggest you leave now," The girl rolled her eyes, chuckling at the absurdity but still paying mind to the warning and stepping away and pushing past the two.

Her hand had only just started to reach up towards Tony when it suddenly disappeared from view, a short cry echoing off the walls of the room. Everyone around them went silent, staring first at the two men, as that was where the sound had come from, and then down at the floor, where the young girl had apparently collapsed.

"Did you just _trip her_?" Tony whispered, eyes widening in shock at the captain's out of character behavior.

Steve was pulling Tony away just as people began to rush the girl, moving to help her up and asking her what had happened. Tony cocked his head to look behind him, making eye contact and smirking at her, relief filling him when she brushed off comments about her fall with a quick 'just wasn't paying attention, silly me, sorry'.

"I can't believe you did that," Tony mused as Steve pulled the entrance doors open, pulling the shorter man behind him as they made their way back to the limo.

"Let's just get home, Tony."

"You _tripped_ her."

"_Home_, Tony. Drop the subject!"

"But-"

Steve shushed the brunette with a quick kiss, chuckling as Tony's lips kept moving in an attempt to finish his sentence before giving up with a slight groan, his body pressing lax against Steve's.


	28. I Love You

The first thing most people noticed about Tony was that he was a man of words. He was exceedingly charismatic and always had a sarcastic comment to offer up, regardless of how well he knew you. He didn't really have a 'getting to know' period; he started in with his true personality the moment he met you, and figured if you were worth knowing you'd stick around regardless of his jackass personality.

It was a blessing and a curse when it came to running a company. He could give great speeches, rile up a crowd and convince a board of directors that whatever project he had in mind was, in fact, the greatest thing currently in existence. However, he also had a habit of making an ass out of himself and he found himself kicked out of board meetings as frequently as he was applauded.

This very trait had proven to be an issue when he and Steve had first met, and it was one of the few times Tony felt that maybe he had been wrong, and acting like himself straight off the bat might _not_ be the best approach to relationships. Tony was prepared for a lot when he heard they'd found Captain America, and had honestly been more than a little eager to meet him (Tony would even venture to say he had been more excited than _Coulson_). He'd been prepared for a lot of scenarios; figuring America's first superhero would either appreciate Tony's Iron Man title or be irritated by it.

He hadn't expected Steve to actually _be_ Captain America, though. He'd figured the guys personality was something he'd adapted to cope with the American public; they had wanted a good all-American man, and Steve had been chosen to play the part.

Steve wasn't just an actor, though. Tony was fairly certain Steve wasn't picked for any role; the role was tailored to fit Steve. It was hard to tell where the blonde's public personality ended and his private personality began. As Steve, he was a little awkward and clumsy and sometimes he fumbled for the right words. He smiled a lot and he tended to cock his head when he was confused (which was a frequent occurrence, depending on who he was talking to) and he seemed to have a perpetual blush whenever Tony was around. Captain America, meanwhile, never seemed to falter for words. His tone was always no-nonsense and he had no issue taking charge of a situation, even if he still felt completely lost around here.

But they both shared the same sort of 40's morals. If you said something wrong, you apologized. Better yet, make sure you put the proper amount of thought into everything you do and don't say something wrong to begin with. Tony was still struggling to figure out how best to describe Steve as a whole.

And yet, Tony almost never had the chance to learn about Steve's true colors. When they first met, the soldier _hated_ Tony. He hated him in a way that Tony still sometimes doubted; Steve just didn't seem _capable _of hatred. He didn't hate his enemies, for crying out loud, he just thought they were _misguided_ and _needed help_!

So it sort of hurt that Steve had disliked Tony so intensely right from the start. Tony hadn't done anything different with Steve than he had with the rest of the Avengers; he'd jumped right into conversation and unleashed the full Tony Stark personality. It had worked well for the rest of the team. Unfortunately, it had worked _terribly_ for Steve. Steve thought Tony was ill mannered and uncultured. He hadn't thought Tony was deserving of his superhero title, because he didn't' have the _morals_ to back it. To Steve, Tony was looked up to only because he had money and had thus _made _people look up to him. Whereas everyone else had gotten placed into the Avengers project based on some skill or abnormality, the only thing that seemed to set Tony apart from the average Joe Schmoe was his IQ and his money.

That wasn't enough for Steve. Steve wanted a team full of people who wanted to do good, people who were capable of doing good. People who behaved well in public and didn't feel the need to speak every single thought that crossed their mind. In other words, Steve wanted a team full of people who were not Tony Stark.

But nice-guy Steve would never kick a person out, no matter how much he disliked them, so he'd never even hinted that the Avengers might be better without Iron Man. They'd been forced to hang out and talk and eventually either Steve had warmed up to Tony's personality or Tony had unknowingly changed and lessened his assholeness. Tony was pretty sure it was a combo of the two.

And now they were together. Or, at least, Tony was pretty sure they were. They had held hands and they had kissed, and they certainly were together a lot. But they'd never actually put a word onto their relationship. They'd never had a reason to. They hung out with all the same people, so there'd never been that awkward introductory moment where one person would have to figure out if they introduce the other as 'friend' or 'boyfriend' or whatever. And Tony was way too proud to _ask_ Steve what they were. And Tony wasn't sure he wanted to know, really – what if Steve brushed him off and made Tony feel like a fool? When had their relationship taken a turn into teenage awkward romance, and why did _Tony_ feel like the girl here?

Then one night Steve had whispered those three words. They had just finished a night of watching movies and eating artery-clogging popcorn and were lying on their shared bed facing each other. Tony had been tracing lazy patterns against Steve's chest, enjoying the warmth and company, while Steve had his arms wrapped around the brunette. It was Steve's way of telling Tony he wanted him around, Tony figured. And while at first Tony thought he'd misheard, a quick glance up at Steve reaffirmed that he'd just heard those three words pop out of the captain's mouth, and they'd _definitely _been meaningful.

Tony had floundered at first, his mouth opening and closing as his mind launched a war as to what words would constitute a proper response. Half of him wanted to take the easy route and just whip those words back out at him, whether he meant it or not. The other part knew that this relationship wasn't like his past ones, and he wanted to make sure he actually _meant_ what he said to Steve. Steve was the type of person who would know if he was lying, and this wasn't something Tony wanted to get called out on. This was important.

Luckily, Steve seemed to sense his indecisiveness and responded in Captain America fashion; he'd leaned down and kissed the brunette until he barely remembered what he'd been so flustered about.

Steve had said it a few times since, and every time he'd sensed that Tony was still conflicted and managed to distract the genius and successful avoid any awkwardness. While Tony appreciated the gesture, it had started to make him feel worse.

He was Tony Stark. He was charismatic. He shouldn't be so afraid to say _three words_. It was only one sentence, and yet every time Tony had come anywhere _close_ to saying it his tongue had turned to lead and he had completely clammed up. He felt…well, he felt like a _failure_.

The thought had been at the front of his mind for a while, until eventually he just gave up. He'd reach up and initiate a kiss whenever Steve said it, he'd hold him and touch him and try to convey everything he couldn't say through contact and expression. He wasn't sure how effective this method was, but it was the best he could do and it beat nothing.

Tonight was another not-quite-a-date-but-close-enough nights. They hadn't been planning on doing anything, but the rest of the Avengers had gone out and they liked to make the most of their infrequent totally-alone moments. So they were sitting in the downstairs lounge, watching some crappy, low budget sci-fi movie. Steve seemed absolutely captured by it, his eyes widening as more and more poorly-done special effects were added. It was honestly adorable, and Tony found himself watching Steve's expression far more than the movie. Steve didn't seem to notice Tony's staring, his attention too focused on the grainy film.

"God, I love you."

Tony's eyes widened. The words were out before he had a second to think about them, to analyze them as Steve urged him to. His eyes flashed between the television and Steve, some part of him hoping that Steve hadn't heard him.

Of course, Tony couldn't be that lucky. Steve's eyes flickered over to meet his, the blue slightly more noticeable as his eyes widened. Steve smirked, his attention temporarily drawn away from the movie, and leaned down to coax a gentle kiss out of a still-shocked Tony. Their lips brushed together in a chaste kiss, with Steve pulling back before things got too far and Tony feeling flushed and flustered and _confused as all Hell._

"I love you too," Steve whispered against his lips, his hot breath falling over Tony's lips like a soft blanket. Tony leaned forward, ready to capture Steve's lips again only to be denied as Steve turned back towards the movie, the stupid flick engrossing his attention once more.

Tony tried to pout, but wound up smiling as Steve smile grew, his blue eyes flashing back over to meet brown.

So Tony still talked before he thought, even after Steve. But the results were balanced; sometimes, he got kicked out of board meetings. Other times, like this time? Well, Tony had to admit; those three words were the greatest things currently in existence.


	29. You Could Do Better

**(A.K.A. Stark-Rogers Industries or The Conclusion)**

"You realize you could do better, right?"

Tony stopped cold, his body tensing as his mind processed the sentence. It didn't take long for him to place the voice; he'd heard it all too often over the past years, though it'd been a long time since they'd said something so sincere to him. Part of him urged his legs to keep moving, for him to ignore the words and walk away. Don't engage. He knew that was probably for the best. Then there was a tiny part of his brain telling him to turn the fuck around and _stop_ that sort of talk _right there_. It was uncalled for and _wrong_, and while Tony had gotten pretty used to people urging them to break up, normally it was the other way around; people telling Steve to leave, people telling Steve he could do so much better. Tony didn't mind that as much, because those people were right. Tony woke up every morning wondering what the blond saw in him that kept him around. But Tony? Tony was already playing way out of his league; Steve was the best thing that had ever happened to him. There was no one better, for him or anyone else. If there was one thing Tony wouldn't stand for, it was people badmouthing Steve. So that little voice wound up winning, and Tony found himself turning around to face the blond woman.

"Excuse me?" Okay, it wasn't the _best_ response ever, but honestly? It was all Tony could think about that would be _appropriate_ (as Steve would say).

"You," she moved forward, confident as she strode up until mere inches separated the two, "could do _so_ much better."

Tony snorted, refusing to back down (despite that growing part of his brain telling him to stand down and leave, telling him Steve would probably not be proud of him if he started yelling at a _girl_ because despite what Steve may say he was definitely old-fashioned and still considered it unmanly to engage in any sort of fight with a girl) and stared her down.

"Pepper," He started, drawing out the name like he was caressing a blade, a cold cruelty entering his tone, "when someone asks you 'excuse me' and you _know_ they heard you, it's a hint to _rephrase_ or _back the fuck down_."

Pepper flinched but didn't back down, eying the genius with a look he was more than a little uncomfortable with. Where had _this_ Pepper been when they had been dating? He could count on one hand how many times Pepper had been the one coming onto him, let alone how many times Pepper had seemed so…_jealous_. And Tony hadn't exactly put his playboy lifestyle on hold when they'd been dating. She'd had plenty of opportunities.

So it made no sense that she'd be so upset _now_, of all times. They'd broken up a long time ago, and _she'd_ been the one to initiate it, not him. He hadn't even jumped straight into the game after her; he'd taken a proper mourning (drinking) period!

"Normally. But in your case? Sometimes I doubt whether you hear _anything_ I say."

"Guess that's just one of the many reasons we broke up, huh?"

Tony had only meant it as a joke, really. It was just a way to get her to back off and realize what she was doing what completely inappropriate (and this was _Tony_ saying that). He didn't expect her to freeze up, her eyes widening like dinner plates and reminding him of why he'd liked Pepper in the first place; her looks. It was shallow and superficial and stupid (and probably just one more reason why they'd never worked out) but hey, he couldn't really help himself.

It was the same thing that initially drew him to Steve, although eventually he found himself leaning more towards the guys' personality. Tall, blond hair and blue eyes was a _good_ look, and with Pepper's eyes so wide he could clearly see her own blue eyes. They weren't the same shade as Steve's, almost as if they were a lesser blue, but they were still attractive.

"Don't you ever get tired of it, Tony?"

"Yeah, I'm _very_ tired right now." The brunette rolled his eyes and turned to walk away only to find his arm grabbed by Pepper.

"You can't tell me you don't get sick of the way people treat you and Steve. Like Steve is some porcelain doll that you're going to tamper with and break. Like you're the bad guy. No one cares about what happens to you, do they? No one's ever gone up to Steve and told him to be careful; no one's ever gone up to you and said they'd look out for you?"

Tony stiffened and pulled his arm free, erasing any expression of insecurity before he turned back around, intent on tearing Pepper apart.

She was right; no one had warned Tony, he'd never seen anyone go up to Steve and tell him they'd kick his ass if he ever hurt the genius. And they'd done that a helluva lot to Tony, more times than he'd like to count. But there was a reason for that. Steve was _Steve_. He was loyal and caring to a fault, like some sort of goddamned puppy. Tony was pretty sure they _had_ to warn Steve, because Steve was the type of guy who'd always want to try and give a second chance. Steve was the type of guy to worry about everything, and the moment he told Tony he _loved _him Tony knew how far in he was. It wasn't just that he didn't want to hurt Steve (although God knows he _didn't_) – it was that he knew this was a permanent sort of thing. There were moments when Steve would talk about Peggy and Tony would know that for Steve, these were more than forgotten memories. Once the Captain loved, he _loved_. He gave it everything he had, and he never asked for anything in return, and he never seemed to be able to let it fade away.

So no, no one had warned Tony, no one had defended Tony, because there had been nothing to defend Tony from. Steve, meanwhile; well, everyone was pretty sure the Captain didn't quite realize what he was getting himself into. Tony had overused 'love' and underused _love. _It had been a quick way to get a girl back into bed; whether it be drunken calls to ex-girlfriends ended with a quick '_I still love you_' to ensure they came back for one more quick fuck or a fake lost-love story at a bar until someone took pity on him and came to 'ease his pain and sorrow'. Love wasn't something he had taken seriously; it wasn't something he had ever meant before.

"Actually, I think I _can_, Pepper. I don't get sick of people _intruding_ like that. People actually give a damn about Steve, and of the two of us he's the one that _needs_ the warning. Now look, I don't know where you get off on trying to put down Steve, but it stops right here. I'm not gonna lie to you, it wouldn't be easy to manage Stark Industries without you, but I'd sooner deal with _that_ then you stepping over him. Clear?"

Pepper smirked, and Tony could have sworn he saw a flash of joy crack through her eyes. It was gone before he could be sure, replaced with her best attempt at poker face (which, Tony had to admit, was actually pretty damn good).

"I see. And, out of mild curiosity, how long do you plan on keeping this _Stark_ Industries?"

"I…what?" Tony sputtered, eyebrows twitching.

"How long are you planning on keeping this Stark Industries, Tony? Or is there, I don't know, maybe a _name change _in the future?"

"A name change? What are you-"

"Oh relax, Tony. You know, for a playboy, you certainly don't seem to know when _you're_ being played."

"The hell, Pepper, why would you-"

"The same reason everyone else gave those warnings to Tony, silly. I just decided to be more direct with it."

Tony deflated. Any anger he had felt had washed away upon hearing the genuine concern laced in her voice.

"Look, I can see how much you like him," Pepper continued, stepping away and starting to walk by Tony, "and I know you. I've never seen you go so long hiding a relationship from the press. Well, maybe you shouldn't hide anymore. And I'm sure Steve would appreciate the gesture."

"The – what are you talking about, Pepper?"

"The official forms sitting on your workbench, of course. Now, I think Stark-Rogers Industries has a nice ring to it, but obviously you have the last say." Pepper pushed by him, brushing their shoulders together as she walked away, smiling at his mumbled, barely heard response:

"Stark-Rogers Industries…Yeah, I could _definitely _see that."

**And that's the end, guys! As I said at the start, this was all for NaNoWriMo – so as I've hit 50k, the daily updates are going to stop. I'm going to mark this as complete, but by no means does that mean I'm totally done with it; as I said before, I want to go back and revise a lot of these chapters, and I'm probably going to go and write some more later on. So, if you've got any suggests, please let me know. I might not get to them immediately, but as soon as I'm a little less tired you can bet I'll be back!**

**Anyway, it's been a great ride, and I want to thank everyone on here who favorite and/or reviewed this story….thanks to you, this was not only the easiest NaNoWriMo year I've had, it was the **_**only**_** one where I've stayed relatively on track for the entire month. I especially want to thank two users in particular, Kit Of Love and Yaoi and Paisley15, for taking the time to review so many of my chapters! You guys rock, thanks so much!**

**Again, even though I'm marking this as complete…it's not. If you guys ever have any suggestions or prompts that you want to see, let me know! **


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